True and Unproven

Geometry

I prove a theorem and the house expands:

the windows jerk free to hover near the ceiling,

the ceiling floats away with a sigh.

As the walls clear themselves of everything

but transparency, the scent of carnations

leaves with them. I am out in the open.

And above the windows have hinged into butterflies,

sunlight glinting where they've intersected.

They are going to some point true and unproven.

Rita Dove

All photographs by Baya Clare, CSJ unless otherwise noted.