These statues if they were not cracked or chipped
Would seem to be recent finished
Not long passed
Just a bit
Like the final polish
Applied only minutes past
Glowed under lamplight
As shadows cast
Toward the doors
Of the inner sanctum
Which then are sealed
Against the millennium
And then another
Yet two more
Sat still in darkness
Gathering stour
After sands had shifted
And shifted back
Monied raiders
Gave the seal a crack
Now they stare over your head in the great museums
Disgusted that the proles can see them.