August evening I only start a haiku but I finish the flask OR August evening I start a haiku and finish the flask

With every pull on his flask he imagines a better draft.

He writes haiku with a ballpoint pen impressing the paper

The force of the wind shown in all the smoke—- Wildfire season

In the old man’s voice the transparency of the stream the indifference of the fish

Across the table her trembling lapdog Happy Hour part of the floating world collection The Mississippi Portland

Hot sleepless nights the swish-swish of the rainbirds soaking the dead grass