Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count -- / Festival of the Souls.
Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
Learn the rules, and then forget them.