Despite an envious flood of light

coming from every direction,

the metal and glass that greet you still seem

poised to drink 

the vigor from your hands

as you reach for companionship alone

across a space not meant 

for man to linger long.

The clouds that pass

and deposit their shadows

serve only to remind you

that more exists outside this glass

that you have tied yourself to

without expectations.

Greenhouses contain,

but they cannot contribute,

cut off and bridging the places

where natural systems work

toward unnatural goals,

lambent only 

with what purpose you can find 

buried in the green,

in seedling, sepal, or stem.

A single season can 

deliver or destroy 

the harvest you have sought 

to break yourself free,

and this plant in your hands

might be the stock needed 

to seed your prospects for good.

The great grower knows 

that things can grow even

in the greenhouse darkened 

by covering our own panes

as long as a grain of strength remains

even desiccated and dark. 

You become the greenhouse 

whenever you feel ready

to allow yourself to grow again, too.