It is unhinged and wrapped in white cloth
its two thousand pounds lifted and laid out, taken to the basement of the Vatican
it is stored in a dark room and never visited
it is stored in a dark room and forgotten
for safekeeping for interest for further investigation and posterity
for ten years it stands in a pope’s chamber and, fingers wet with saliva, he rubs the glowing feet of his own Mary
it is bought and sold seventeen times in secret auctions
it is bid on by women in veils and through video monitors
it is hung in the bedroom of a Chinese industrialist and his new bride
they make love in its shadow
they strangle each other in its shadow
it is nailed open
its history is wiped clean from the Internet
not a photo not a line written of its openings and closings
it is melted down and its body poured into door handles and cups
