At first there was darkness, and there had always been darkness.
Then the stars turned on.
And music played, as if silky notes drifting through a night-cloth dome of windows,
and in this way wonder entered the scene.
Wonder mated with music and seeded people.
People would go on to forget their original parents, but would long to return
to this mysterious unknown, this insoluble home.
There would be that tenderly agonized longing, that homesickness,
and there would also be the deepdown knowing
that emptiness knew the score, i.e., that they, the people,
are made up of so much more of what they are are not
than of what they are, or think themselves to be.
The whole thing was an opera, a fretted fiasco,
with the recording of a mute fat soprano
playing in the background.