Tanglewood

Because music was never like this
and won’t be again.
Before the first note,
the surprise of it—

you know it as home,

variable as August evenings,

            the mix of winds,
            cut grass and sometimes
            the sea—

Because it ends, as things do,
mixing with night
and gone—

We call them movements,

implying relocation—

what the last note

leaves.

                                     C. Emerson

                                      January, 2014