cosmological argument

The Firmament Above the Temple, Paul Klee

i am as we always are:
    drawn to the window the morning
after. a breathless goodbye, a frisson
of consciousness across the star-lentigoed
    hands of what we name ancient
being. do we give you an implied possibility of
    time-as-we-know, do we give you faith?
do we give you colors that turn by the quadrant?
seasons split seamed-and-stitched from one temporal
series to the next
and to the next– drawn to the window
the morning after the world ended, wondering if
you’d show up on my driveway after all this time
    and considering, once again, the circumstantial
question of contingency and the intention of
sustained being. i am determined that to
end we must begin. and yet.

i am as we always are:
    drawn to the window just as everything
starts to end, wondering if tomorrow morning you’ll
ever have been here at all. a burst
    of simultaneous creation, a fine-tuned
age of expectation throughout a universe
that was once just a speck, once just
    nothing at all. and we are as i always am. i ask
you: does any of this make sense? when infinity
has set upon us and a conceptual regress gives way to
    dependency that ends where it began and we are
     as alone as we once were. faith preserved,
only, by a person waiting in the window,
in the driveway, in the event that we have consumed ourselves,
    as devoured by an end as we are by a beginning. and yet

i am as we always are
    if only we could live backwards
counting from the end
    from the end.