mural 3 Hands up, deep divide. Get over it.

At the Prado, once you’ve seen it, the Goya is the only painting you remember.

Vulnerable, manipulated, stripped of our flesh,

bunnies, and babies playing with guns.

Leaving out only those I have forgotten. Most are forgotten.

Hooded hunters return. The falcon and the falconer, Yeats again: the circling gyre

. . . Yes, since you ask. I think of Bosch. Never far away or near, knowing and not knowing.

One more and I’m done.