Most evenings I’d meet Daniel right in front
Of City Hall, to walk home for our meal
On Rue Domat, just westward of Rue Dante.
We’d stroll across the bridges, always steal
A glance at militaires patrolling there
In threes (in Charlie Hebdo days), while high
Above the gardens and above the Square—
Irregularity inverting sky
And parvis, Île and river to a shape
Which hovered round—the building’s lofty stance,
Defined both space and time, which wove a drape
To soften Notre Dame’s indifference.
It made us feel rock solid, think we knew
A way of being centered, staying true.