Cobweb-Like Exhalations, Which Fly Abroad in Sunny Weather

They cleared their throats,
A team of sorts.
Mm-mm. We don’t

Have to be good.
We are the moon.
All of the moons.

Do you ever
Think for how much
Of human time

No one knew or
Suspected or
Imagined there

Were far more moons
In the night skies?
Who needed moons?

Who wants voices?
Who needs poems? Who
Wants to be good?

Those questions were
Rhetorical.
What don’t you know

Or suspect or
Imagine now?
Mm-mm. Voices.