The dome stands translucent,

gathers the light from four moons

to pattern its uber-plastic skin.

There’s not a dollop of air outside

but within, the oxygen is smooth and sweet,

flushed with floral scents.

Breathing in is like inhaling my lover.

Everything is artificial of course.

These hills were not formed

from ruptures in the plates below.

The lakes did not fill with rain water.

The fish, the trees – all imported.

Now if only they’d transport my lover here.

But, though she has the fairest, loveliest of skin,

she lacks the required skill set.

We’re far from the rumble of the mines

though, from the window of my kitchen,

I can watch the workers floating back and forth

at shift change.

Without the minerals, there’d be nothing here.

Just a planet, impervious to life, designed for death.

Of course, the dome is stocked

with clubs and bars and fancy eating places.

Anything to blur the mind of a man or woman

so that their lovers could be anyone,

even the lost soul drinking beside them.

Arcadia, this place is called.

It’s the latest in harmonious, all-inclusive

dwelling places and can be shipped

to anywhere in the universe.

It boasts of being a home away from home.

But that’s the last thing a home would want to be.

I stay up nights, lying in my bunk,

remembering what it was like to be with my lover.

I once thought women were from another planet.

But I had to leave Earth

for me to give that planet a name.