The lunar satellite was launched from the Korean Peninsula.
On the day, I sat on a stone in the rest area of an urban apartment,
writing a poem under the stars invisible to the naked eye.
I recall some words - the beginning, light-years, limitlessness, eternity.
I recall a thin white bear teetering on a fragment of a glacier,
and the newly-hatched chicks of penguins, the owners of Antarctica.
I recollect war-torn Ukraine, once the bread basket of the world,
and the unexpected war orphans and the infant refugees fleeing from the war. Oh, the flicks that come to my mind: my daughter living in Boston,
the stone statues on Easter Island and the sunset over the sea,
Amazon rain-forests disappearing at an alarming rate,
a French village in Millet's painting L'Angelus,
the smell of baking bread somewhere in a narrow alleyway,
the leopard that reached the peak of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Africa,
the geese flying over the Himalaya every season,
Austrian wallabies that look like small kangaroos,
the last eyes of exterminated animals,
the persons who died today in every corner of the globe,
and the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem.
I write a poem, wishing for peace on earth,
in a tiny corner of Korea in East Asia
that's to never be seen in the satellite photograph.
All the things that I've recalled and thought about
get together in my short poem with 'I', 'you', and 'he/she/it'.
The world is already one in the poem
by Earth's gravity, memory connection, and solidarity of life.
The small shining blue planet in an infinite universe,
the Earth, still rotates in a circle;
the poem reduces the distance of the world almost to zero,
uniting the world and creating cosmic harmony.