Watching "The Night Before Christmas," 1905

The deer jerk into
the clearing, and stand breathing,
staring, breathing at the camera.
Alone in his shop, a man planes wood,
planes wood; the muscles in his arm
grow taut then slack with sawing.
He shuts the door behind him,
waves to no one.

The deer grind by
painted landscapes,
fastened earthbound, pinned, intent.

The family appears and disappears
from the house, the beds, the table.
Mother, Father, leave the room
quite bare.

Oranges delicately placed upon the mantel.
Sudden trees, as if chairs
had reverted their spaces.

Strain to hear the title card
as he speaks; his lips move
and say nothing. Strain, strain.

The sense of deer
flickering through
the cold.