Yes, I was here, north of Kotzebue
in free fall toward the 20 below
expected that night, praying for that storm
to slingshot me back to last summer,
before I knew I’d freeze to death —
I gathered wood. I built a teepee.
The forest floor was soft, the leaves evergreen.
Skin dying whiter than the snow trapping me,
yes, I was here, remembering
the bar-tailed godwits in God’s swimming pool
last July. How they dipped in, climbed out, up
Jacob’s ladder, turning as gold as the sky,
calling down that sometimes the only shot you have
is to let yourself disappear.