I know this has happened to you.  You feel that something beautiful, something desirable, something blissful, is so close you can feel its presence, almost touch it.  Yet it lies a universe away, the mystery behind the gloaming.  Nearly yours, it slips through your fingers before you can take hold.  Or, it may be someone: someone you wish you could love, someone you wish could love you, someone to touch.  This poem explores that real but elusive sense, that longing.

TO TOUCH THE MOON

I cannot touch
the Moon.
For all her beauty,
her seductiveness,
for all her wisdom,
her distracted discernment,
she moves just
out of reach.
For all her cool warmth,
her illuminating glow,
for all her coy kindness,
her constant variability,
she glides just
beyond my reach.
For all my ardor,
my real gratitude,
for all my scheming plans,
my considered, burgeoning love,
I cannot touch
the Moon.