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

Tribute to Jake Adam York

Julie E. Bloemeke
December 22, 2012
—for Jake Adam York

How to begin

a day of endings?

I walk for miles.

I can do nothing else.

The leaves, curled copper,

clutch, congregate.

The pine needles, against

asphalt, point forward.

Not even the sound of birds.

Breath: warmth that rises, retreats.

The last time we met, we talked

of writing the unwritten,

what comes before we are born.

As in: the poem born with

the poem born within.

Birds now. Sun parts.

The only way I get this poem

down is through speaking it

into my hands, this phone.

My fingers shake, numb

to touch the keys.

In your town, I imagine frost, eulogy.

There must be birds.

Surely they sing through this,

lace a song too good

for these reckless, grieving words.