I stood in the swamp an agate in each hand and before me rose the laws of the universe in entangled skeins
pockets of light emptied in puddles, the slant of the sky spoke winter
the brew in the heads of the children around me arced, I could see they were angels
I choked on decipherable air
a verbose epiphany just a moment in bumble, small storms in small minds was enough
get back on the bus, I said
and they did, each with their agates, some would keep them for years or tumbled in tins become smooth as the gears of the world
others lost before bed time or stolen by brothers became hidden whorls of desire
so much for field trips, or the mind of a man who stands at a window and stares
remembering children he taught
three decades ago
under stars