Dove, Rita: 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.