When I copied it here, the number lost the exponent, and I'm not sure how to get it back. I hope my parentheses don't disrupt the majesty of the poem.
First Light Edging Cirrus
by Jane Hirshfield
10 (to the 25th) molecules
to call woodthrush or apple.
A hummingbird, fewer.
A wristwatch: 10 (to the 24th.)
An alphabet's molecules,
tasting of honey, iron, and salt,
cannot be counted—
as some strings, untouched,
sound when a near one is speaking.
As it was when love slipped inside us.
It looked out face to face in every direction.
Then it was inside the tree, the rock, the cloud.