You told me that the
boulder that stood between us
had been removed and had
left a hole
in your world and you
fell in.
The shadow of an ogre blotted
out
the January sky.
Long ago, I found you
sitting in Saint Paul’s
in front of the
statue of Saint Therese.
You said you were cold
after marching in the
streets of Paris
against the war
in Iraq.
After that, you gave me
a small,
blank notebook.
I scribble in it and
fill it with words, incantations
and prayers. Batman has
put away his indigo mask.
I have put away mine. The
ogre is gone.
You broke the spell.
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