Seasons

The ice cream in the winter
in front of the gallery.
I bite into the cold
and feel the pain in my teeth.
But we are always looking for warmth.

During the protests, our bodies close.
Our home is in the streets.
We make our home.
Finally, the bees
swarm around baked-in cherries.

A painting is burned
in the gallery during the battle.
Winter.
We wrapped the cold around us
because we couldn’t do anything else.