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.