Jordi Alonso
The Starling

for Jake Adam York
August 9, 1972 — December 16, 2012

The starling’s flown and he has left our sight

no matter what we do or what we say

no poetry will make him land tonight.

It seems a sin to drink, to cook, to write

with dynamite or clothespins, for today

the starling’s flown and he has left our sight.

A supple crafter of a greater might

than all of ours is quiet—somber—stay,

no poetry will make him land tonight.

Re-cork the wine, don’t feel the whiskey’s bite

they’re not enough without his quick cachet,

the starling’s flown and he has left our sight

without partaking of our table, slight

though it may be, no Maker’s, no Moët,

no poetry will make him land tonight.

With paper wings that are translucent white,

with thoughts of roads of ink that wind away,

the starling’s flown and he has left our sight,

no poetry will make him land tonight.