it's not dark yet

you swim
with him, his
music and
odd devil
way of seeking
and not
exactly finding
God, but
coming close.
of dissecting
love, and
leaving it on
the road, and
finding once
more on a
another road.
dylan
and his rasp,
his fingers
strumming,
behind blue
eyes and ravaged
face holding
a thousand
years of songs.
and you don't
buy into all
of them, but
there are just
enough to help
you get along.