FANTASY

The apartment will be private: air empty and pure of other breaths
will flow through my lungs. No cup will move from where it was put.
Flooring, walls and thoughts will be free of decoration.
No phone will ring, no fax print, no newspaper set down. Silence
will reign. No muscle will jump fearing penetration. Three corners
I will create in my symmetrical house: I, I and I. Ninety degrees
precisely between each and its sister. At dust thought

moths will glide through the calm, a  silent winging
will row through space. Colors of metal will limn the dimness
hexagons will dangle from lashes. Ravaging peepholes
will flash their wings to bite me

My gates will open slowly
My hand will write nothing.

FANTASY