Perihelion: An Online Journal of Poetry and Mayhem
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Stephen Edgar

Daylight Music

Above the river’s dull Britannia metal,
A dreary alloy of the winter light
And water, cloud extends
Like water surface that the waves unsettle,
The blown air bends
And other unguessed elements excite,
Viewed from far down, where sunshine ends.

Something is stirring on the upper side
Of that grey plane, a shifting marbled glow
That strikes a sudden shaft
Through one interstice, which it prises wide,
And pours its draught
Of floodlit brilliance like a UFO
Incredulously photographed.

And here Sibelius’ Symphony Number Seven,
Playing unheard while my displaced attention
Was pausing to daydream,
Superimposes on the light of heaven
The trombone theme
Of its first climax, soaring in suspension
As though the music were that beam,

A column of illuminated sound
Advancing through the day. I close my eyes
And hear its movement, scored
Through that torn fissure which the clouds surround,
In time toward
The sun’s conclusion, hear it synchronize
The silvered river chord by chord.