At dverse Sarah has us focussing on touch, the feel of things. Of course sometimes the tangible is sadly no longer available.
He is out
out touch.
So at night
when the river is a clear voice,
I imagine him as he used to sit.
Leaning forward,
elbows on knees.
As if listening
for something speaking
softly to him.
There would be a cigarette in his left hand,
ignored in these moments for most of the time.
Now he is fully locked in to that distant world of his.
My hands
and questions can’t reach him.
welshstream 
That’s a goose pimpler. The detailed description grounds it in reality, and then the last two lines are heart-aching.
Powerful visual Paul, tinged with longing and sadness. A very effective write, well done…
The distant father – could have been mine – you’ve created a poignant snapshot.
I love how you worked on the memory of a touch… the visuals how he used to sit, is so close yet so distant (I imagine it to be a father)
Which is obvious from the title 🙂
Great Title – Father Away as your poem is about being farther away. The distance is palpable.
I love the title and last 3 lines just closed it powerfully:
Now he is fully locked in to that distant world of his.
My hands
and questions can’t reach him.
strangely apt for me at this time