Every Sunday
the Knight walks
the Princess
to the train
Her gait soft
like a
penumbra
His legs light
like fire.
Every
Sunday, the Knight
walks the
Princess
to the station, she
always makes him
wait.
He waits gladly.
She waves a wand
her eyelash;
he sings into her ear.
She rewards him.
Within a minute
the Princess
vani s h e s . . .
intermittent joy
Virginia Valenzuela 