I began by asking myself: What are you looking for? Then I walked a thousand miles in one long dream, only to slip on a blank sheet of ice. Standing up, I fell again, this time the Cold War prompted the military to build huge radar dishes, and the island was transformed completely into a military base. This gave Iñupiat jobs on the military’s Distant Early Warning site, but their villages had to be moved yet again, since hunters could be confused for Russian infiltrators entering the Dismal Depths....

I emerged nearly two years later shivering and far away from where I began. "Everything seemed distorted by the ice; the distances were impossible to calculate, and the way back passed through a valley of emptiness, with no landmarks available, just miles of rubble."

    In the100 years
    of  warming<

    the birch grove
         hobbles
    across Route 28
    & up the valley

        toward the
       Arctic Circle

It used to be that one eureka followed another
like a mountain of paradigms with no summit. Not only
haven’t I found a mountain, but
Arctic explorers of the early twentieth century
like Robert Peary and even Roland Amundsen often made notes in their diaries and other writings
of the impassivity or inscrutability of Inuit, little understanding that without great emotional self-restraint,
life in Arctic conditions would, for human beings of any kind, be impossible. To be inscrutable, which is to say,
restrained and self-contained
in the North there are no horizons; instead, a "cold integrity" prevails.

Facing in one direction, I arrived at a place where there are no directions