Jupiter's Moons

I want to reach for Jupiter's moons,
and I'll pour honey into the empty
shells
of coconuts. 
It doesn't seem impossible 
to grab a fistful of black sand
from the bottom of the ocean. 
I can hide invisible thoughts
behind rows and rows of words. 
I picture a little girl
picking ripe berries in
a green field,
a young boy studying 
a language his father
couldn't read. 
The pits of cherries
have a coat of sweetness,
and using chalk to
write
on gravel leaves
uneven spots 
in the middle of letters. 
Cold milk goes perfectly
with cheese and macaroni,
but no one else will know that,
as the glass of milk
has already spilled. 
Stars speckle the sky 
like holes in a cardboard box.
My handwriting is not messy—
my ideas are created
too fast to write 
neatly. 
Give me colors,
give me light.