Dave Bonta's "Hawk" is a tiny poem built around one image: a single hawk hanging high above the speaker. The speaker feels something close to awe, calling the sight "pure peace." What's striking is that hawks are hunters, yet nothing here feels threatening. The poem plays with that tension.
The line about the hawk's "table" is the odd, memorable moment. A table suggests a meal, but the speaker sees it as "an innocent world / with no prisoners in it." The hawk's whole domain, the land below it, seems cleared of fear and captivity. That's a surprising way to look at a predator, and it suggests the speaker is seeing from the bird's calm, open point of view rather than the prey's.
The last line, "like a body by moonshine," adds softness and a hint of intimacy. The mood is quiet, pale and hushed, like something glimpsed at night. The poem leaves you suspended, just as the hawk is.