the rippling boys in cool blue-tiled pools
mark passages north to south
dreaming of white cargo and goat’s horns.
wind is a tuba, heat a brass trombone.
accordion-powered palms bend
like ballads of the mouse and his turf
a underworld of pyrite galaxies
and greenstone statutes templed in tunnels
woven from backstrap looms.
in sunloungers shaped like jaguars
the girls bandit bundles
and flash necklaces of human teeth.
the sky kneels
with its hands bound behind its back,
a red fresco pooling on cool blue tiles.