My father

He's gone and only memories will keep
my father from oblivion - that hell
where, stripped of voice, death-rest is all we reap.
And yet he's here, for I remember well...

Insistence on high standards in all speech,
on logic, understanding 'what' and 'why'.
Yes, I recall his criticisms, each
a wing-clip meaning we soon yearned to fly.

He showed he cared with knowledge shared; it seemed
as though his mind was packed with filed facts.
A clever man, not hinting that he dreamed
for us or for himself - but that was Max.

He lay there lifeless in that coffin bed
but I can hear him still, inside my head.