I like wearing
your black flat cap;
I feel near to you
when I do.

I imagine what thoughts
may have run
through your mind
when you wore it last,

whom you were talking to,
what day, what eyes
met yours.
I like the feel

of the cloth,
the warmth it gives,
the closeness
to you, too, I guess,

your death an ache
deep as space,
endless seeming.
There is a closeness

wearing the black flat cap,
as if you watch me
walking slow,
the town, the street,

you close by,
stepping behind or beside
in your invisible step,
unseen feet,

close by,
keeping watch,
keeping an eye.
I wish you were here

wearing your own
black flat cap,
keeping you warm,
your thoughts

your own,
that silent way,
deep love
and thoughts;

wish you were here,
my son, here today.