for Jake Adam York
Of course it was raining here. I thought of you
walking in the mud, the wells your feet
left behind, and the water that tried
to fill them. On cue, the streetlights went dark.
I wish that were a metaphor, but it’s my fault
for moving to a city that knows
how to make an elegy
I can’t believe this is an elegy
for you. Since grief intoxicates enough,
I drank water until my stomach hurt
last night. I couldn’t stop. Today scripture
seemed to fall from the mouth of everyone
who spoke to me—the world took longer
to make sense. This some final lesson of yours:
I’ve got to figure everything out on my own now.
I’ve got to strip all my other elegies of their titles.