after The Conjurer by Hieronymous Bosch, 1475
No one is so much a fool as a willful fool.
Flemish proverb
Most people don’t know where to look—
they’re easy to distract. Some simple patter
can confuse their eyes and cloud their
clarity. “You see this pearl,” I say,
“so luminous,” and hold it up to gather light.
And while they look, a hand can do what hands
can do. And if something should disappear—
a ball, a purse, a trust—I tell myself
it is a fool who’s always credulous.
And in the end, it’s just another empty pocket.
Just another empty cup. Just another
empty promise in a world
with shame enough. So call it magic.
Call it theft. They’re both just rearranging.
One ends in astonishment.
The other in a hanging.
It’s plain survival, this secret art,
this instinct to deceive.
Thank God for fools, their froggish blear,
their longing to believe.