The Sunday Poem: “A Light Downstream” by Francis Fernandes

April 18th, 2026

The Sunday Poem is published weekly, and strives to include the poet reading their work.

Francis Fernandes reads his poem at its conclusion.

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Regensburg, Germany

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A Light Downstream

The lacquered surface of Joni’s grand piano reflected the spotlights onto a row of seats so that those sitting there wouldn’t have seen anything because of the glare. So we turned the piano a little bit. Joni was ok with that.
……………….– Roadie—at the 1972 Joni Mitchell concert in Frankfurt am Main ……………….(pronounced MINE)

Long after setting off
on his Maiden Voyage,
those splendid dolphins
still dancing in his mind,
Herbie Hancock went down
the river—a warm dusk
drifting over the water—
to play Joni’s songs,
with love, devotion,
and oh so many fine
chord voicings
and harmonies.

The stripling Beethoven
sailed down the Rhine
and up the Main with
the Hofkapelle’s players,
the scent of pressed
grapes in the air,
taking in the siren’s song
at the Lorelei
and listening
to the music inside
his head—as the ripples
reached for the sonatas
and symphonies to come.

I just happen to be swimming
from Frankfurt on the Main
to Regensburg on the Danube,
steeped in the glow
of a half-familiar adagio,
my ears picking out
all the key changes.
Cygnus glimmers down
a rumoured cue
though I measure my beat
between solid shores.
Still, I’m troubled
by the fact the Main
never hears the Danube—
finds her but
by a long,
narrow
man-made
canal:
How
can
the human
heart
make it
past
those shifty
locks
unscathed?

The water is smooth, flat,
black as earth. I am wary
of the undertow. I shudder
at all the secrets down
below. My mother, like
Joni wrote, planted flowers
in the spring, and my father
did the winter shovelling.
I discovered a hidden
path to an endless river
and skated on and on.
Now, years later, no
rucksack or raft,
I go with the river’s
sweep, its steady pulse.
That’s all that matters:
the momentum of history
carrying me closer to you.

Charlemagne imagined
these two waterways
joined at the hip. But
digging had to wait
a whole millennium.
The great wars—
their scarred ridges—
still kept us apart.

Danube—
from the Proto-Indo-European
déh₂nu, meaning river goddess.
Even more elemental
than that: in Sanskrit,
dā́nu—dew-drop.
Let us peer further in:
surely some lost
ancient tongue had
a word for that lopsided
ebbing molecule.

You must know what’s
pulling me to you:
sheer polarity,
a flow that even
this wily Proteus—
writhing up and down
between the Black Forest
and the Black Sea—
cannot stop from
claiming me.

Up ahead,
in Regensburg,
before the first light
of dawn, the organ
in the stone cathedral
sighs. The keys
your fingers touch
span centuries, while
the pipes warm
the old bridges
of this fabled town.
You alone have risen.
I am drawn to the faint
murmur of your sound.

A coldness crests over
my back—chilling beads
of history rolling off
into the wake.
I recall that frozen
river of yesteryear:
gleaming steel
skate blades
hissing in the dark.
Now, as these kinetic
limbs slice through
the night, I hear
your music—
the sweet culmination
of a well-tempered,
lifelong
odyssey.

My breath stirs;
glowing embers
in the furnace
within.

I enter
the immeasurability
of time,
in the house
of your song.

Listen to Francis Fernandes read his poem

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Francis Fernandes grew up and studied in Montréal, Canada. Since spring 2020, his writing has appeared in over twenty literary journals, including Modern Poetry Quarterly Review, Saint Katherine Review, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Third Wednesday. He lives in Frankfurt, Germany, where he writes and teaches.

Listen to Simon Preston perform Beethoven’s c. 1783 composition “Fugue for Organ in D Major, WoO 31” [Universal Music Group]

Listen to the 2007 recording of Herbie Hancock performing the Joni Mitchell composition “River,” (with vocalist Corinne Bailey Rae) [Universal Music Group]