The Smile

In the field where the
Buttercups grow
Mona Lisa’s face has aged.
She has wrapped her head
In golden pollen
Left over from last year and
Adopted Spanish blood
To smooth the wrinkles from her cheeks.

In the field were the
Buttercups grow
Mona Lisa’s colors have changed.
She has woven a dress
From roots
Blessed with tears and
The milk of Egyptians
Donned memory of her ghost daughter
To renew the smile on her face.

In the field where the
Buttercups grow
Mona Lisa’s spirit fades.
She has wrapped herself
In canvas and
Flown back to her gilded frame.