The Art Teacher Turns Greenhouse Teacher, or Why I Wake at 3 AM

I have dreamed of children’s stained-glass problems—

thick leaden seams, faint hatching wilding

into cross hatching, lopsided pinch pots thinning

and shy blending, afraid to saturate the page

with wide range and bold contrast

I have lost sleep on how to help them

find wisdom in the marriage

of their untried hands and sharp eyes

as though my life and their happiness

depends on the coordination of the senses

Now I dream of soil depth

and seeds, how to teach children

the art of pouring jewels of creation

into their sweaty palms, pinch

and release them into tiny trenches

and think metaphorically

of where to place them—plant companions,

mutual protectors—boldly thin crowded spouts

as if room to grow, green meals, more seeds

will absolutely save them