my father a silent passenger
in my train of memories
was there a curiosity,
a wondering of child,
or could my father never have known me
in the sense of owning me in his heart?
for my blue eye child
that I could ever not have
a constant wonder of him
have him on my mind or in my heart
could we father, have been so different?
Bogart Daddy, could you have never cared
for this silent partner in your life,
this shadow of laughter and cries?
could you not have nights,
moments of reflection,
curiosity of me
or the father I strive to be?
why is it so difficult to bring to and end
the well of it when dry
in the male of this
the new start,
the beginning of the end.