The Moon and the Ocean Speak

Moon:
He saw me first, glowing low.
He thought he could reach me—
but I am not for reaching.
I am for longing,
for reminding him that not all mysteries
will be solved by asking.

Ocean:
And I thundered where he could stand,
where his feet could sink,
where his body could wrestle with my strength.
I am not for longing—
I am for return,
for teaching him that what leaves
can also come back again.

Moon:
I slipped behind hills,
and he carried disappointment.
Yet in his silence,
he learned the shape of absence,
the ache of what vanishes.

Ocean:
I stayed with him,
night and day,
tide upon tide.
And in my rhythm,
he learned the weight of presence,
the comfort of constancy.

Moon:
I am his mystery.

Ocean:
I am his anchor.

Both:
Together we remind him:
Though some things are lost,
others come, and stay.
And both are needed
to make a soul whole.