If not the burning,
then the water. Slowly sinking,
head claimed beneath the calm blue,
engulfed, embraced, erased.
This is the justice of the world.

Those of us who clawed our way back
to land learned to find joy, not in thoughts
of their burning, a reckoning
that would never come; but in eyes shut
against the towers and turrets of their castles rising.
In the clanging, the rejoicing, the praise. The altar
of our chests cracked open. Canaries uncaged,
carrying songs. We gave ourselves
something more than justice.
Peace.