I can see the sun pressing through
the branches of the trees, coming
down from somewhere too high to
reach with a ladder, or a long pole,
or a shotgun.
Well out of the way of foolish and
meddling hands, where things, un
maintained, just work the way
they’re supposed to.
And that’s where the boys are,
and that’s where they’ll stay,
and I know if I could see them
next to that untouched sun,
I’d see that they were smiling.
the sieve and the sand 
this speaks a very powerful liminality to me. the essence of something you can’t hold or conceive yet it is so present. the sun is a very fitting object. nice
Keeper.
“or a shotgun” — classic.
nice imagery.
thanks all.