As You Were

Could be nothing but
Prolepsis, this world,

Not quite prebuttal,
Procatalepsis,

Not rhetorical
Anticipation

Of an opponent’s
Counterarguments,

But prefiguring,
As in, dead before

He walked in the door,
As in, the naked

You strip of their clothes,
As in, done before

It ever started,
This sad universe.

Oh, how do you know
It’s so sorrowful?

Look, until Fermi
Has his paradox

Resolved, it’s just us,
Despite the millions

Of stars in clusters,
Coma galaxies

With billions of those,
Despite everything.

And if it’s just us,
And whatever gods

Our thoughts can concoct,
It’s a sad cosmos,

Nakedness to strip,
Good as dead before

The first light rushed in,
Banging through the door.