The speaker says they love the sun, the sky and the moon, but starts by saying what they can't do. They don't circle the sun like the earth, long for freedom like the birds, or sing to the moon like the wolves. Love, here, doesn't look the way it does for others.
Then the poem turns. The speaker calls themselves the sea, "full of things" they'd like to hide, and love is one of them. As a sea, they can love in their own way: they take on the sun's colors, mirror the sky's changing moods, and soak in the moon's glow. Each gesture is a kind of gift, showing the loved one something they may not see in themselves.
The mood is quiet and tender, with a hint of shyness. The speaker seems to love without speaking it aloud, and the repeated closing line, "even love," leaves that feeling hanging, as if it is both a secret and a quiet kind of strength.