Perhaps,
the moon does not realize
its Fullness 
Until it begins waining 
And only then 
In its grasping for light 
Does it
 Suffer 

maybe,
in its
 Newness 
Does it begin to think
It is enlightened.
It is finally nothing.
Only to start waxing 
Again 

And only,
the Witness is 
knowing 
It is always whole 
Always empty 
Always there 
Aware.