We Are the Ones for Dezmond Waiting. A syllable: forming, generating energy in small, dark masses: marrow, stem cell, neuron. Waiting to come alive again in this tiny body. Guwa — you should learn this is the word between you and I, my son, hokshina. Come here. Come home. To this place. Between...
Aspen, arrowroot, agate. Bitterroot, bear grass, barking squirrel, Camas, Clark’s nuthatch. Devil’s club. Deer Lodge, Drummond, Eye of the needle. Emigrant weeds. Finch. Fireweed. Flatbow people. Glacier lilies among gray wolves. Happy birthday, lover of Indian paintbrush while Just another June sends endless rain along the Kootenai. Of silver glaciers, Lewis’s woodpecker I sing. Lost Creek. Magpie....
How many words do the birds have for wind?...
It will take you there & beyond. Past the twelve thousand year old Anzick Child aglow in red ochre. Past the fallen barn praying on its knees in the basin. At the county line A ghost house looks for its people. The Ringling Church celebrates its loneliness. The depot has died. In winter the whiteouts tell you to turn back but you go on, believing you’re on...
Poetry of the Northern Rockies...
Beige blue horizon and the thrill of sunset violet velvet magenta not just for seconds but minutes coming and then receding from its own brilliant apex and I hoped to have it all, the arrival, the going, but mostly I wanted to keep the fury of color in a full sky and...
Poetry by Timothy E. Haught ...
Returning to Montana brings bittersweet memories...
The trick Fishing for lunkers This side of the Continental Divide On a stretch of the Big Hole River From Glen to Twin Bridges Has little to do with incredible graphite Or a tailored 6 lb tippet. Flip your streamer Up and across stripping line off In a dead drift, back slow then In hand...
Near the Rosebud River...