Vivienne

Out from under, 
some swallow’s tail dead, 
from the cold no child will know, 
a poison trickling, 
a stopper wished but faintly, 
to fate’s ends, dreamt awake she would, 
to make out or off, 
but reason nay, 
for mine own spring it is, 
that swallow wing, 
my throat did breathe not hers, 
only echoing did she muster, 
or so memory would bent be while, 
delusions like steam, pulse forth anon, 
fogging the view ever more, 
of my dearest my darkest, Vivienne.

Some Amusing Thoughts

Perhaps the more salient question is not why does the universe exist; rather, why do we, who evolved in this universe, possess the power of imagination?

Humankind will never be able to validate a teleological construction of the universe looking backward.  We may only look forward to the day when we might validate it by recreating the future.

We are not Gods, after all; we not only create, but enjoy surprises from time to time.