It’s noon. No one can outrun the sun.
Ozone leisure zone is gone.
High noon flings regrets:
Sorry we jumped the gun;
better to have been a nun?
In this long June noon none can escape
January follies. New escapades,
mad dashes for shade, landscape make-dos–
all futile efforts to reimagine
heartache-free October families.
“You blew it!” burning rays blare:
took for granted clean air, soil, water, love.
Now too late to stave off trauma,
Earth teeters in triage on choke-point brink.
God Alive, our Hideout: Strong Love, rise,
preside, vindicate and empower us.