harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
"V.V. sought to express something, which until expressed had only a twilight being (or even none at all -- nothing but the illusion of the backward shadow of its imminent expression). It was Ada's castle of cards. It was the standing of a metaphor on its head not for the sake of the trick's difficulty, but in order to perceive an ascending waterfall or a sunrise in reverse: a triumph, in a sense, over the ardis of time."
-- Vladimir Nabokov, Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle
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i safely solipsise your granite walls; your sweet rose south side; the patio play of my limbs with birds' wings spread in the sunshine, as sleepily splayed thighs were in the morning; the pearly white of the eye and a honeyed breakfast bite.
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