Sfumato**** Poem by Neil Young

darkness comes… but drags its heels… a street light flickers into life

the parlour dresses in dark clothes… and slowly sucking out the light
turns pages grey… half-digested words fade to meet it
yet never meet it halfway… negate the need to cross that line

there should be harmony between the light and dark
my fingers grip a book… like branches gripping leaves
each limply unaware and drifting into sleep… let tenures go…

now darkness drags its heels in me… at what point did I cross the line?