If I could touch the Milky Way
my hands could learn how sparks ignite.
I could learn the language of darkness.
If I could touch the sound of crickets
history of autumn would resound.
If I could touch November moonlight
I could prophesize the winter’s course.
I could stack woodpiles under the eaves.
If I could touch my distant lover
our breath would be the river’s mist.
— Denise Low
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
Lovely