my son is a better version of me

i easily break
he rides storms smilingly

i crumble in a crisis
he handles stoically

my emotions play loud on face
he hides it handsomely

i'm doubtful of exploring
he ventures courageously

i speculate on life too much
he bothers not seriously

In the loam we sleep,
In the cool moist loam,
To the lull of years that pass
And the break of stars.

From the loam, then,
The soft warm loam,
   We rise:
To shape of rose leaf,
Of face and shoulder.

   We stand, then,
   To a whiff of life,
Lifted to the silver of the sun
Over and out of the loam
   A day.

Second hand love:
Have I come this far to be a second hand love?
where is my rose, where is my morning smile,
where is my goodnight kiss and
where is my number one guy.

I want back what I have lost.
To be whole once more,
To find the piece that fits.
I can't feel much;
But what I can,
Is just enough
To get up again.
The hope that tomorrow,
I'll find someone new,
To help me place the pieces;
To show me love again