Constellations

You can just see the edge
of the Little Dipper
through the tent's open flaps.
Tell me how he knows all of the constellations,
where each freckle landed
on your arm and how he
tasted sweet, like apples,
fire wood, damp earth. Kissed
his way from star to star.

Normally, you don't want
to talk about Simon,
about last fall, the stars
you can't name or how he
left when the ground turned hard.
But this Autumn, you're done
memorizing the night
skies. You crave Orion.
Show me Andromeda
suspended weightlessly
in the sky above us.