If I took one of the moons, wrapped it in my fingers, put it in a plastic bag, and stuffed it into my freezer, I’m sure no one would miss it. Except me. I would miss its dark glow and its telling phases. Sometimes, the moon will whisper to me and say things about the people. I dare not stare at the moon too long, but I do see it in their eyes. Sometimes, it’s like a sideways smile and when they turn their heads, I know how they want to play. Other times, it’s half-full, glowing with boredom and labeling mostly everything as unimportant. Then there are the full moon eyes, a light circle spinning in confusion. I take these eyes in, determine their weight and color, then take an imaginary photo with my hands, my index finger clicking the button. I like to savor confusion.

There was one time when I captured the moon successfully. What most people don’t know is that the moon can move and shift quickly. During that particular night, a near early dawn when the sun dared to reappear and share its importance, I grew bored while taking a shortcut through a hiking trail near my house. For most of the walk, the thick trees were rustling, hiding me from the moon, but at one point, the trees thinned, and I got a heavy glimpse of the rounded moon. It began to taunt me, showing me bouts of attraction to my trailing loneliness. I ran through the trail, my feet beating at the mud, and when I reached the exit, I immediately veered and climbed atop the nearest building. I jumped from rooftop to rooftop trying to capture that moon. It had diversions, flashed bolts of cut meteor towards me, and tried to change its color, change its mood. Unafraid, I rolled and tumbled across the top end of apartment buildings, jumping over wide gaps that led to my death, and I took my arrow, attached to a rope and tossed it towards the moon. Miles and miles it flew, quickly shooting through the air, causing some drunken homeless men to stare upwards, quite afraid and thinking life was a dream. I could hear the men, booing me and cawing at me to climb down and give up. I ignored them, waited for the arrow to finish its course, waiting for the arrow to begin its first meal. Finally, about thirty minutes later, you could see me sitting on the rooftop, my hands under my chin and my eyes up as they always once were. I could hear it. The sudden, yet quiet sink of the arrow into the flesh of the dusty moon. It did not cry, only changed to a darker gray. Ecstatic, I took the remainder of the rope and pulled it towards me. Once I had it in my hands, I could feel its weight. It was heavy and began to beg me to do things for it. Tried to cast me under some spell. I abided, took a plank of wood, laid it on the concrete and used my hammer to smash it into a flat oval. I stuck a hole through the middle, wrapping a thin piece of string through and pulling it over my neck. I wore it for nearly a year.

No one seemed to notice the night sky anymore. They would look at the stars at times and a particular group of astronomers was confused by the lack of moon. Eventually everyone resigned it to the thick clouds. The night became darker and full of pests. I hadn’t realized the moon warded them off when it was free. I wore it selfishly, going to parties and hiding it beneath my shirt so no one knew I had captured it. Once, the moon escaped from its prison next to my chest and it glided around through one of my nightly parties, introducing itself and trying to become free again. People were taken aback, but interested. The moon was clever, wooing my guests, and making their eyes change shapes. My guests’ moods were submissive to it and the moon began to like its new job on the planet. It jumped out an opened window and I caught one last glance at its rear. It turned around once to meet my eyes, which were wet with disappointment, and it sent a silent message to me so no one else could hear or see it.

Good luck.

Once that moon left my grasp, it didn’t reach for the stars like I had thought it would, it actually remained alive during the nights, meeting various people. I heard stories of a man cracking it in half to see what was inside, but I don’t know if I believe that one.

If you look at the night sky, you’ll see another moon has deputized my moon. Though its shape is not the same, it is similar, and only I can tell the difference. It is smaller, more of a white, and likes to change its shape to confuse the stars as to its purpose. Because it is a newer moon, it is still learning how to spin around, and often waits until the sun is about to rise to do its real job, which is to listen to my secrets. Many moons will need replacing, I wonder, because my full-moon eyes tell me to keep trying to capture that blushing circle.