Because I was told to keep the important things close to me, I took a long coil of iron chain and wrapped it twice around the moon, tying the knot; and from then on we could never be separated. From the surface the chain was a knife's width of silver, poured from a just-tilted glass, pooling light fallen along the length at the bottom of the ocean. Before I was old it had begun to rust and lose its luster, but even on the new moon it was never invisible. From my home I came into the habit of watching the sunset pass across the length. I imagined the window of a single battered link, twisted half around by the tidal pull, framing the whole sun for an instant; from the other end it framed myself standing on the good earth; follow its true alignment, face towards the sky, follow it always to my beloved Moon.