Only this is known:
he’d spent the summer floating
along the Tanana River to the Yukon,
singing old sea shanties to the Gold Rush clouds.
He’d flown past the Arctic Circle
and paddled west along the Kobuk
toward the thin ice of early winter
where people disappear.
Only this was found:
Through rime over rocks through
spruce trees north of Ulaneak Creek,
flyers and troopers and trackers all saw it.
A circle in the sand —
as empty as the hole he might have left
if he flew his canoe into the sky
and decided not to come down.