Sunday, December 23, 2012


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.

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