Lullaby for the Last Night on Earth



When at last we whisper, so long, so lonesome,



and watch our house on the horizon

go down like a gasping zeppelin of bricks,



we’ll turn, holding hands,

and walk the train tracks to the sea . . .



So sing me that song where a mountain falls

in love with an octopus, and one thousand fireflies

ricochet around their heads,



and I’ll dream we’re dancing in the kitchen one last time,

swaying, the window a waystation

of flaming leaves, the dogs shimmying

about our legs,

dragging their golden capes of rain . . .





O my critter, my thistle, gal-o-my-dreams,



lift your voice like an oar into the darkness,

for all the sad birds are falling down—



Nothing in this night is ours.

Brian Barker