they meant you more than they meant themselves;
your hand upraised indicating the ironic vibrancy
of jupiter and venus, the line they made ending
at a rust-tinged dot that was mars; and sirius
like a bauble off orion's belt, the giant
red dot on the hunter's shoulder like a scar.

your voice was worn to a waver, like trying to hold steady
the binoculars which made a blur of observation.
later you were opened to sight, and you became the hidden bustle
of the beehive in your gut, a sick constellation of melanoma mapping you
which these words map against. these words, how weak, to hold you,
as you held me, in that moment before you became more starlight
than man, more mist-stain than mind; o weak words,
keep him, once more, once more, together, tonight.