Straining into starlight

Like bees scenting the myrrh and frankincense
Of his flesh, bullets congregate around him;
Blood honeys at the exit wounds in his heart.
Smoke – the nepenthe of his own sweet death – staggers him;
He falls, becoming a garden of perfume.
The faithful swathe him in ivory muslin,
but his flesh goes further, straining into starlight.

-George Elliot Clarke
(Lush Dreams, Blue Exile)