Beyond the sun who can reach?

…Once, in an evening purple soft,
When the air was kindled wool,
I met a boy rolling a wooden hoop
From a backyard,
Through alley and street,
Uphill, where the ball of the sun
Was suspended —
A roll and a rush and a run —
And he set
In the sun,
In the red transparence,
Tore apart
The heart of the sun with his hoop
And, drunken,
Rolled it on,
On and on.