Every night the reindeer gaping
in the basement window. Slenderly.
Legs flash past the lights, antlers hung
like candelabra, a matter of faith.
Their hooves move like spoons.
Mouthful of mud. Mouthful of Armagnac.
The sleigh is the absolute rhapsody, the last word in lunging,
an epée plunging from a white glove.
The reindeer confuse weeping for wind, acorns for bells.
Since they came, I mourn no more for my horselessness.
They believe in the least of us.
They nose unpretentiously through the nativity
while I unscrew the base of the snow globe.
They’ve been so patient.
Now we go in.