Words-
yours, the last ones,
the ones I try to recapture,
illusive now, my son,
just out of reach
of memory's touch.

Words-
not famous ones,
not of depth or
philosophical
or world changing,
but yours,
last breath spoken,
before I left,
exchanging of words,
out there still
in the atmosphere
ghostly, haunting,
yours, my son,
the final words,
what the last one?

Words-
fragmented now,
my brain searches
through the corridor
of cells, seeking
in the drawers marked
forgotten, the last words,
yours, my son:
what was
the final one?