Storm over Michigan Avenue, Midnight Market Dreams

by David Cope

unspoken sorrow of upturned faces, crowds on Michigan Avenue scurrying,
whispering their quick talk staving off the night —

torrents fall into the streets below, scattering the thousands
yet we too must descend into the thundering siren–filled streets,

lone sax blowing on the corner as richly dressed strangers press thru the livried
servers clustered under their canopy —

the heavy rains now passed, new loves & old reclaim sidewalks,
idle chatter lips & eyes necklace & silk tie seeking the next doorway —

we among them race into the midnight market ablaze in light, shoppers meditating
deliberately, turning slowly thru plums, berries,

Italian sodas, young stud crumbling cookies into organic ice cream — we giggle like
two young lovers wandering here picking fruit,

marveling over orchids — how did we come to this, two alone apart from the family
we raised, to find ourselves again & grope toward

a new gaze, holding hands? lightning illumines skyscraper roofs & screaming
streets alike, O Love, as we head back to hotel room

& quiet dream, tears for the inevitable turning, the vast day ahead — fold a bill for the
sax player, his high strut signing Time’s slow move.