In the vast womb of the ever-unfolding firmament,
where starlight trembles like the afterthought of creation,
the tireless hunter ascends—Orion—
bearing within him the vestige of an impossible longing:
the moon’s sovereign, untamed and inviolate,
she whose argent bow fractures the constellated abyss.
No terrestrial stride may rival her silent drift,
yet desire, incandescent, dares to outpace eternity itself.
From the brine of the abyss he once emerged, colossal,
a figure wrought for dominion at the threshold of first light;
to wrestle the primordial beasts that haunted the newborn world.
With staff of oak and girdle ablaze with triadic fire,
he traversed the heavens as though they were merely terrain—
until the divine gaze, sharpened by envy,
summoned the scorpion: a sentence incarnate,
its venom not poison, but decree.
Thus the hunter was unmade,
the darkness receiving him like a final arrow.
Yet the sovereign of thunder, relenting,
unwove death’s conclusion and inscribed him in the sky:
a constellation of undying flame,
his belt—three luminous axioms—
his blade a smoldering testament against oblivion.
And she of the moon, stricken with a grief that glowed,
let fall her crescent tears across the void,
vowing to recite their entwined myth, but
*Vavo's crater emerged like a Greek Siros
*Nikolai Vavilov,
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