The reindeer
fastened to the great round eye
that glares along the
Finnish forest track
runs runs runs runs runs
before that blast of light, will die
but not look back.
Will not
look back or aside or swerve
into the black tall deep
good dark of the forests of winter
runs runs runs runs runs
from that light that thrust through
his brain’s nerve
its white-hot splinter.
The reindeer
has all the forests of Finland to flee
into, its snowy crows and owlly
hush; but over the icy ties
runs runs runs runs runs
from his white round i
dée fixe until he dies.
To his west
is deep-as-the-dark, to his east
is clear-as-the-moon, but lockt
to his roaring light
runs runs runs runs runs
the fleeing flagging reindeer
from, into, the cold
wheels’
night.
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