a poem was written tonight, so
opaque as to conceal the identities
of the players, obscure as to meaning.
As diffuse as the moon hidden behind
endless banks of thick cloud cover.
no clarity to the reader or the writer
was or can be achieved.
this poem will dance around the
edges of my mind and ripen
in its own time.
Casablanca: A City Nothing Like the Film
3 hours ago