The ice is failing on the Arctic Circle.
It won’t be back for another age.
They’ve sucked the water from the Alberta prairie,
And all they left us was this short-term wage.

Big-toothed walrus by the thirty-five thousand,
All massed together on Point Lay shore.
Every face is looking out at the Chukchi.
Not one body can swim no more.

When I die, I’ll be back soon.
I’m not done with the light of noon.
I’m not done with this wide, wide world.
I’m not done with my Caribou Girl.

When I come back I won’t be a walrus,
Won’t be a bear or a caribou.
I’ll come back as a coal-black raven,
Flying through the forest just to get back to you.