Melody for SaxophoneMan it was a dead-air day—the soundproof sky pressing its gray padding onto my headthe bare silver trees were flutes no one's fingers playedand I remembered it was the shortest day of the year.I muted my brain through an echoless tunnel—Then the hill crest launched a sky tuneOn the ridge a whiskered saxophone man in a cloud-black coatleaned backtossed bebop notes, rang the bell of his gold horn—they swirled kicked curled pouredlike steam breaking freelike time looping loops—I rose spinning among themshedding pink blue orange goldsparks like a Roman candleand sound-painted all the landthe silver trees tootled counterpointthe hills streamed chorus after chorusthe old man nodded lipped tongued spithead rollingcheeks blowingwaist wrenchingfingers racinggrin cracking the airwavesI was the tune.How does the symbolism of music affect the mood of this poem?

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