I’d ask you to reappear from behind the wet blanket, Sun,
But the ozone has been eaten by refrigerants
And we can’t take your glare. We are people
Of the skin cancers, tuned by solar flares.
So, whatever your good intentions towards the solar system,
The galaxy, however far back to the beginning your light
Reaches, we remain tentative, so easily led by your
Coming and going, we are trapped in this metaxy.