Ownership

We should celebrate August eleventh, the night
of the Perseid meteor shower. There’s a long, hot
stretch without a holiday, and this would fill the gap.
Perseid Day would be a holiday to last all time.

And so we wave goodbye to Independence Day, and we then linger
in summer days, when lawns become those many shades of grizzled brown,
and our Labradors, spaniels and basset hounds all succumb to their August;
swelled tongues lapping air so heat can find its way.  Dog days drain us all.
There are swimming pools, all right, and back yard swings, and vine fresh
cherry tomatoes.  Yet since the sky is an essential timepiece, and stars
from Heaven are for sure, why not tag this summer day officially?
Then we can circle it on our calendars and thus, have a day
we can look forward to, when stars incise the night.

We talk fast and loose when we say stars, describing rock and dust.
Yet this is advocacy for a holiday, so shooting stars they will remain.
The night is noiseless sparkler, white filaments ripping night’s repose,
flashes thin and brief.  It is like drama to delight, each universal flare
announcing that the sky’s alive, and we with eyes to capture them
remain riveted to flashing cosmic entourage.

It seems appropriate to designate August eleventh
a holiday, one date recognized as the daylight wanes
while spells of heat abide as the signature of summer.
Perseid Day could become as popular as Labor Day or
the fourth of July.  Maybe, in time, it would be synonymous
with something even more basic, since the sky, and the stars,
belong to everyone. 

26 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
August 3, 2013