Inside the dusty yellow ring the drama is enacted -
a drama of death and dissolution -
a spectacle of life in a theatre of execution.
this searing Spanish sun moves slowly but intently
and daubs our stage a blood-red mix of colours.
Cries of the aficionada, maestros of their voyeurism,
fill the evening air like smoke
as crowds mingle amid hushed murmurs of excitement.
The stage is set, the camera films:
bull against man and man against bull -
barbarism and beauty.
Sleek, lithe matadors pace the circle, awaiting their prey,
eyes fixed and glaring, a grace and poise behind
their savage balletics,
their pantomime of body and soul.
The bull emerges to the crowd's applause
as all eyes scan the matador, the killer of bulls,
all flow and form, glistening in yellow and red
like an open wound.
His combatant stands still,
a frozen Minotaur
and maybe in the dumb brute stare there lurks
an animal intelligence,