Finding the Complex Roots of Unity

Tu ne quaesieris—scire nefas—
                                 —Horace

Today's loop touches on the mountain's base.
Past fallen redwood pickets there's a spring
That spills a rusty water, reeking sulfur.
Blue darning needles cling to spears of grass—

A butterfly called California Sister,
Rising in its numbers, in May air,
Suggests the promise, still unbroken,
Of everlasting life my grandpa spoke of

One Sunday, taking care I should know
"Confession cleanses the soul,"—taking my hand
When my sins were still few, walking me down
A beach in Oregon. Of that time

The beach remains, maybe a little changed.
Now, keeping faith with him I break my vow
Of poverty of hope, as I allow
Myself just one, spare and pared down—

Don't waste your time asking—we're not to know—

And make my way with other souls
Through air, as though on frail wings, toward home.

 

Poems by Jamie Irons: