At the western outfitters the clerk
shows me a photo of the musk ox
he dropped near Kotzebue
his rifle a delicate woodwind
the car coat he sells is too much
blue as a bureau

handsome checkers and closed squares
wool rooms that would keep me
warm all century

instead I set forehead
hot against the window and watch
spring's first goose
land in the field the city set aside

soon the vista will be down
and to the south a gosling nothingness
my migrant eye already fevers