The Quadrantids

On an island of sorts, stark reminiscences

of a diagram fade to artsy metamorphosis

wall language, a simple geometry of sentences.

Feeling Heimat! Just look at the end of that handle,

The Quadrantids lie in Boote radiances

of big dipper squared: Ursa Major, Draco,

Hercules, an occasional fireball of repentance

this cold January morn on Mount Lemmon.

The dog barked! A hound maths the dark abyss

of the sky, their entry a medium velocity

coming in around the 33rd parallel to kiss

Ventana, the picture of language waxing crescent.

Santa Catalina, Romero Pool back towards Mount Graham,

hundreds of meteors over Coronado twist and piss.

Back by noon, sisu with hot sweet green pea soup...