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1

You are so young, so lightly

you walk to meet the vagaries of your lot,

that were you not

a princess, you would be a girl.

Trieste, 1934.

2

I think of those hands, your beautiful hands.

Two thousand years of French history

passed to create them. Destiny

breaks the threads of destiny. You are –

they say – a hostage to the German

of deformed belly and odious skeleton.

Perhaps a sad pride’s just supporting you.

I know no more about you, nor wish to.

Florence, 1944.