Now distanced by two decades at least;
But still too close to call, too close to say,
In some ways - yes - too close for comfort.

You, my father. 
Every day I still remember the many 
Fathers that I knew until the end -
And still know now. 

But mostly I do not know
What really happened:
What it felt like tapping out the Morse
In the rusty tubs that formed the clanking convoys -
Some steam driven, slow, and prey to watching underwater wolves.

But a surface raider got you in the end
Sunk the boat and with it your straw hat
Now both miles deep near Africa.

And later in the crowded camp, 
Trading that jumper, knitted by your mum, for food.

But watching others fading, knowing hope had 
Fallen on the wire, before they did.

But you kept going, on through all those days
To home, to peace, another life and comfort,
With which you told yourself you ought to be content.

And in many ways you were: 
Working reading fishing tennis golf, keeping bees, carpentry 
Playing bridge 
And holidays in south coast towns,
And reciting Shakespeare right out loud

At breakfast, in the bath, on county walks,
In bed.
"Listen to this line, Jerry," And I did.

You singing half remembered silly songs while shaving 
That ended in the middle 
of a line
Then started up again and again
And drove me and Mum half mad.

But that was you.

We fit together, more or less, in words
And roads and love. The winding courses
Of our time when we shall all, in day or dark,
Come to know grief.

He dabs his pursed lips after station porridge
And looks
Sad.
A sort of kiss..

A black speck. Tiny mite. A life.
Floating past the mountain of my face.
Scale of things, and poorly words to say
Anything at all.

It is enough, maybe All
To watch the fire, the flame. And see,
With no words, the Heavens,
And the earth.

Not for you the opening bars.
Sit back, fold hands, a little smile
At the beauty of the others' notes, familiar.

Now, you feel it coming. A caress
Of knowing fingers, lips. The flute rises
To an acquiescing nod, and

As our natural state is poetry
Every single word you say or see
Can stop you. Dead.  Fingers, cursors
Hover over screens.  
Hesitant to touch the light.
The light is.
And now
You live.

Your hair pulled back to bun,
Your focus on the phone.
Head up for inspiration once,
Then quick return to frowning words.

I watch you from across the train;
An elegance of tassled shawl,
Faint scent, disdainful glance
At passing green. A sigh.

Much later in the journey,
The reply.  Temples briefly held;
A hand that comforts
And despairs.  

Those careful words that did not work.