Joanna

To reach her from the south you climb up from between copper mountains.

But east is the long plain of the lake strewn with copper antelope.

The people have chosen to drive an hour into Helena for decent produce

or half that into Townsend for a beer and a little company at Commercial.

The land is drunk with ghosts and what water comes darkly over the north hills

in the switching seasons. With her the fish play games when she scales

rivers for them, bear huffs through the window of the facing bank.

To her the snow is a quicksilver friend. In her the span has begun

its theft. Weeds encroach on the less-traveled game trails of her thoughts,

she is easier tired by wind and misses her ears, two sharp blades.

Between the road, the lake and the little towns are many years but

she came here new, no generations dug in or tradition to take up

like coursework. When she goes she will go from the plain and the world.

When she came the earth hitched to accommodate this new distribution.