It almost seems to have been placed here
On its own and holds still while reality glides
Around it. Beauty glows within you from it
But now the morning is grayed
And I can only see brilliant chapels
Swallowed by the eventual
Burst of the sun, Mona Lisa crumbling
And becoming unseen. These images
Bloom from this statue’s now
And there was the creator staring
At the statue’s golden face and promised
Refuge from the fading.
Jesus, calm down, it’s just a statue.
You’re right Jim, it’s just a statue
That cannot truly fulfill its promise
. . .