Unbidden dream: a melancholy evening, calm and free

by David Cope

I must speak of the insistent melancholy of age, regrets
lurking behind shared laughter, endless smiles.

my small boat lingers in the eddies, among still waters
moved only by perch fanning slowly in shallows—I lift

my head and see the blue heron above, ancient presence.
the seasons roll on, the sun, now obscured, now the moon,

the body falling apart, gradually shutting down, memory’s
tales unfolding like quick films from another life, moments

rising to feverish yet near-silent crescendo, shared warmth
in a friend’s touch, radiant eyes lingering in dream. I pass

thru an open door in moonlight, among stars, and leave
the grave to grave business. Dawn comes quickly, I send

blessings for Zhang, wherever he may be now, his last
message speaking of high blood pressure and creatinine,

now prolonged silence after completing his life’s work,
dear friend singing quietly beyond the dynamo of dreams.

I am indeed surrounded by spirits day and night, old
loves still palpable, present, as are the sorrows, regrets,

filling the many paths with unheard silences among
the busy living with their chatter and deadlines.

tonight, my kousa flowers fully, as Allen’s did in years
after he passed, and the clematis, which struggled

years to simply climb in the orchid porch doorway,
now frames it with wild, open purple flowers: here

is a moment to honor the passing cortege, blindly living
among the waking dead. the heart endures for now.

the song rises even in this quiet moment, audible for those
with ears to hear it, chant the unbidden dream.