Once the blank moon
was pristine.

Then objects hit it.
Lots of objects.

The poet stands off,
makes out what he can
with his toy spyglass.

Pocks and scratches
merge to create faces
and figures.

These fragments take on
a semblance of life.

Central characters and side
characters emerge
all try to exist
at once.

The noise is deafening.

Shut up, the poet says,
or I’ll chuck you back
in the Roar.

Unlike real life,
They all obey the Maestro.