Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (Issue 26, February 2013—Tribute to Jake Adam York)

Tribute to Jake Adam York

Michael Robins
With Thanks
for Jake Adam York

How even the words

permit themselves

spilling, continual &

I wonder what you


  Our parents

didn’t prepare us, how

could they, for these

turns of language that

lead us blindly—


My Friend, I call you

that now

(& blue jays, blue jays)

  A kind of

wind that is or, rising

in our heads & along

latched doors in rows,

faithfully lifts the trees




by its widespread form,

all burns brighter also

without you here &

makes poetry possible