One thing to do
until you can’t
is wait, foot tentative
testing for deceit

as if aligned
with some superior quiet
there at the ice’s edge

as chimneys pulse
on a little ledge above
and a plasma screen
gutters, mistaken for a living room fire
across the lake

Dolled up gunmetal
still as a mime
you balance, oblivious
contemptuous

of audience
and elaborating well
into the night your small

dangerous
adjustments