painted on poplar wood for unfaded beauty
loose hair frowned up with a half smile
while we look to the past
she’s looking past us
to a perfect man
to the King of France
to Napoleon writhing in his bed
to the Louvre bathroom
to the thief Picasso
to the men who still came
to stare at the blank space
she had gone back home to Florence
found peace from centuries of
looking back at men who stare