There is music

There is music

Floating lightly on humid air

Drifting between

Ordained peels of

Raucous laughter

Canned for ease

Of tracking

An anaemic sitcom

On an iPad

The smell of coffee

Seeps into the rhythm

Of morning

As sweetly bowed violins sing

The woodwind section

Blowing gently

In symphonic delight

A romantic Mahler

Freely gifted from

The vaults of St Lukes

To the defaulted parishioners

Corralled in close union

With the long-buried,

In an unconscious communion

With the dead

Broken headstones stacked

In sad reminder

Of rag trade hovels

Long gone

Refurbished for the wealthy

Warehouse conversions

And old print shops

Re-imagined

To create new horizons

As the LSO reach

A spiritual crescendo

The coffee maker beeps

A teen soap intrudes

Along with the noise

Of a fire truck

Exiting the station

Breaking the spell

Without a word

Being spoken

Another day

Unfolds

With new histories

Yet to be narrated

On busy London by-ways.