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.

Meltdown

Global warming,  

Can you feel it?

That fire we lit

Is not yet cold.

In cities, passion burns

And temperature is all the rage.

Our nights ablaze,

We dream of yet more suns,

Basking in fire

As oceans rise

And glaciers cry their last.

Vast icebergs melt

As we approach;

And our Titanic sails gently on.