When I Think of My Son

When I think of my young son,
his head a fish bowl,
thoughts like minnows
chasing mosquitos.
Lips, a pebbly beach
worn smooth by childhood tides.

When I think of my grown son,
a dandelion seed,
microcosm of possibility,
traveling vortex
in search of fertile soil
to meet his needs.

© 2022 | K.Hartless

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