intranauts

now graduated      one and all
from our special educations

     my art students and I
     make a labyrinth

blue painter’s tape on a drop cloth
paved with painted shells.

     in the center we pause   and
     do what feels right

Emma folds her hands    crosses herself.
Jason walks     deliberate     slow.

Andy who followed me in    stepping where I stepped    turns
toward me       face open
hands raised     for a soft high-five

Nagy doesn’t want to try    but
supports from the sidelines.

It’s no small thing     walking
a crooked path      in front of everyone

your whole life
spinning    around a center

whose emptiness is lit with candles
and vaulted      with questions

     taller than you.