Eugenia Onegini

Like his butterflies, which you discovered

clinging to a memory of flowers

and words

the nectar of language dripping full

from your laughing mouth.

Let it be: wings and revolutions, those

things that give us flight

the ways we survive the barren months

of winter before the turning

of the Earth to the Sun’s warm┬áblaze.

Nabokov’s Blue Butterflies

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s