Bamboo

There is a clear sky
On this winter afternoon
Snow on the bamboo

A feral cat emerges
And pauses to clean itself

Near the wooden shelf
Outside of the garden shed
Next to the garage

Plum blossoms on the garbage
Neatly bagged and put in cans

She rapidly scans
A message in her email
Then she deletes it

At the found-art exhibit
The opening's going well

He asks, "Can you tell
What is art and what is not?
I am not so sure."

It's doubtful that there's a cure
For ambiguity

Intermittently
She wonders if he still loves her;
Something in his voice

Does the sun act out of choice
To make it hot in summer

The training runner
Sometimes changes his schedule
With the shifts in time

The moon tonight is sublime
In the cool September air