Millennial Prospect Withheld

At a back yard gate in the village
One old woman walking her dog
Has stopped for a chat with another.
Passing by, at one further remove
From the house, the arcanum's heart,
I intone what's mine to offer,
Weather litany that crashes no gate
Nor so much as threatens a threshold,
Then, for more than good measure, remark
On the little dog's patient eyes
Fixed on me, neither hostile nor friendly.

Last night she and she could have heard
A science reporter as coolly talk
Of our coastal strip's erosion
By rising tides in the climate changes
...