we are hiding from the tongues of the gluttonous sun
that keep licking the fondant facades
of this sickly sweet city

we are hiding in the cellar
away from this city’s gardens
where peacocks drag their jeweled boredom
through fallen jacaranda blossoms
this city where languid church bells
melt
and drip
into the syrupy heat
with courtyards of
old lace
ceramic virgins
and manicured rage

we are hiding in the cellar
robbing in turn the stones
of all the cold they have hoarded
teaching our senses
about need and appetite

we are praying to the north
to please send our way
a rumor of pine,
to drop a cold coin
into the begging bowl of our cupped hands
to let loose
its weather of wolves,
to slip into our palms
something sharp
to scrape off
the sugar