The speaker starts by pushing back on the familiar idea that only time is relative. Space is slippery too, they say. Distance doesn't behave the way a map suggests. A short walk along a zigzag path over dried pine needles can feel enormous, while the plodding effort of getting to young flowers connects the speaker to something fresh and alive.
The second half widens out. Crossing "mouthy oceans" brings a kind of lightness, and the tongues of other languages or people might teach the speaker what closeness means. The word "mouthy" is playful and a little noisy, making the sea feel full of voices. The poem ends on a quiet admission: "Mine's / an old, restless soul." That line explains the wandering. The mood is thoughtful, gently wry, and a bit wistful. The speaker seems tired but still curious, someone who keeps moving because they haven't yet found a place that feels close enough.