When White Hawks Come

I dreamt        the spirit of the codfish:

          in rafters of the mind;

fly out into the winter’s

           blue night;

 mirth off alder       tendrils sashay;

 while I set up

             my winter tent;

 four panels long—beams suspend

 I sit & pull blubber strips             aged in a poke bag;

 I’m shadowing the sun                    as a new moon icicle

 time melts    when white                     hawks come.


Copyright © 2020 by dg nanouk okpik. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 30, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“Traveling in dream state, waking up, as fast as I could, to write this piece, in bed. The dream ‘sashays’ as the poem is in constant movement but ‘suspended’ in old man forest. I stayed there in the blue night in ‘mirth,’ rapture, and in laughter.”

—dg nanouk okpik