Yue

my dear green-blue planet: what is giving?

you’ve always said that all i do is reflect the Sun;
but his “unconditional” illumination and warmth is selfish—
a mere byproduct of his existence, indifferent to yours.

could i break free of the tui and la,
the gravity of your needs?
I am tied.

the time, thought and energy that we give another, we cannot
give to ourselves. is it really debt if servitude
was obligation, was purpose, was entitlement?

but we are all pieces of an embedded memory of our cosmos
what honor, to know the weight of our touch
unraveling, connecting; what privilege, to share
orbits with even a small fraction of the tapestry, eternally unfolding story;
(and what fear, the realization that others too, wield a same power.)

galaxies moulded
by dreams and toil of those before,
and the hope and promises for those after
what we owe to ourselves and to each other is this place;
the preservation of shared humanity.

four centimeters a year:
the guilty pleasure of snow lotus and honey;
the tradeoff between the tides and orbit;
the cost of loving you.

Mortal love will always be moon-loving.