Amiss

there is no sand
no rocks
no land masses 
only silence
and with no sand
castles can no longer be built
and with no castles
great balconies of stone can no longer exist
and with no balconies
there are no passages to travel in between

there are plenty of buckets
shovels lying here and about
all in an abundance of colors
bright yellows
brilliant blues
some with red sifters
they all feel the sunlight 
warming their bodies 
as they relax upon the unknown
they all feel the wind 
playing against their plastic rims 
mildly rounded edges
they all feel the stars reflections 
when night time closes it's eyes upon them

but most of all
the buckets 
the shovels 
the sand sifters 
all know there is something amiss
even with an inconceivable consciousness 
of what exactly is missing