Astronomy of Love and Loss

The planets tingle down the spine.
Is it the cold eye strung to light
or the furnace of madness spitting dust
into shapes of us?

Your love burned me into man.
Is it the morning gravel sigh
that made your lips a fusion gold,
or the cavity it left in my chest
when I knew the stars had been a lie,
the space between them cold,
undreaming?

Your death froze me on the stand.
Is it the night we dreamt of boats
under a flourescent moon
or the words dripping from my tongue,
or the noises that my spirit sung
when the tubes fell in your throat,
when the warm pulse had left your heart,
when the constellations fell apart
and heat and cold were all the same
the patterns of our bodies lame,
even as they shivered
in death
and splendor?