Pieris rapae, male. As if it manifested directly out of the energy of my unseasonable butterfly-hunger, or out of the vibration-field stitched through the many lepidopterical books that I'd left piled around the desk by the window against whose panes it was so suddenly flittering. Its tiny delicate abdomen, thickly furred, its hindwing undersides shot through with the pierid's special greenish-yellow cast. Irreducible. What cabbage brought you here, into this house, into the room I grew up in, in February? Where did your larval self live? Chant me your lines, how many generations of milky flight from Québec 1860 to here & now?
1 comment:
Bless you on your comics brigade, dear Jophet-flower!
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