Gnomeville
just beyond the meadow
where three trees fell last year
in the windstorm, one crossing
the shallow ravine, mushrooms
marking the soft places where insects
hide where little people disappear
in shadows, a bootprint here, flash
of red cap there, a quiet place
except for the 45 minutes
when 24 first graders traipse
into the woods, reconfiguring
themselves into the environment,
falling over each other to dig
into the leaves, leaving
gems and notes for the sprites
to find between the shadows
under a sliver of moonlight,
shifting toadstools for crickets,
fireflies overhead, dance shoes
tapping out time to bless
the ground for the bigger
little feet coming back tomorrow