Lullaby

Before archaeology,

A baby’s cry

Split time.

Before fire

Or conscious thought,

Language of any kind,

A cry

Before sound

Became word.

Clear yet

Untranslatable

(language is not yet born),

No echo, but

The original

Atavistic urge

That brings us rushing

To the cradle.

Facing Up

Spent the day on Facebook

Checking out the sites.
The past won’t feel the same
Without you.

Each image hides a clue,
Virtual or actual.
False or True,
Fate plays our tune.

I sometimes feel
The dark side
Of the mirror
Is where we live most.

So then, it’s no crime
To be out here again,
Wandering the streets
Of Cyberspace.