I never saw the moon as a child, perhaps I was so wide-eyed and smiley that not even that big far bright stone could catch my eye. I wished on things, like a pink dollhouse, a new house that has four stories, maybe perhaps even a new dog, not the wish for the moon to loom over. So I ignored the moon, as I drove in my car, rode my bicycle, and I sat next to the still tumor in my grandma's beautiful lung, I ignored the moon. I ignored it when it saw me cry and scream for my mommy. I ignored it when it saw me get fired from my first job at fifteen. Perhaps this ignorance of the moon gave it a sense of mystery as if it only wanted to become full every time the clock strikes ten o'clock and I crawl to my bed. My mundane life coming alive with every beat of a book, flicker of a lighter, nub of a cigar bud, is what the moon saw. The moon sees everything, for the sun is too bright to open its eyes, the moon wallows next to you at your bedside while you weep, the sun wakes your children drying the moon's night dew on the windows. The moon is what watches us, never criticizing, simply watching, waiting, then going to the other being across the waters. And as the moon rises again across those black waves of sea and mountain valleys, there's an heir it brings about, playfulness, no one is watching, but the moon is. And Oh! The places the moon has been, Dubai, kajmakcalan, victoria falls, in your kitchen. The moon is in your eyes, and your eyes the lake, as they are alike because the moon resides in them. The moon doesn't look, it sees, watches, and takes home even if you don't welcome it. As you become too lazy to pick the dirt from under your fingernails and groom your dog's velvet matted coat the moon will glimpse. The moon will pass between every ocean and circle around every mother and child until time has bequeathed and that child is mother and mother now the gentle hand of aging. But such as beauty, the moon saw, the moon also saw ugly, the moon can see your greed, money, the religion you coat on your salty lips as you kiss the wounds of hungry children. And just as you shut your eyes to rest, the moon sees another pair of eyes close and never open again to watch at the moon, as the moon had watched at him. A cold mangy stray dog, the concrete jungle of lights and electric trees, a small Chinese child mastering stern halma, and the world, is what the moon saw.