A lepidopterist’s last words

From the age of seven, everything I felt in connection with a rectangle of framed sunlight was dominated by a single passion. ~ Vladimir Nabokov ~ “Speak, memory”

There's a chink in the shutter
and once more the door of the past
flies open. Like the pretty captive insect
it only needs a chink to emerge

A boy full of summers
pushing up through the flowers
daylight packed with endless hours 
each swish of a butterfly net

Such a desperation of desire
they lit. I lay each down, pinned  
to gaze and gaze upon. Entombed.
Dazzling motionless wings

Each daedal design
I took to heart. In quiet intimacy
of muffled deaths - then immortality.
I recall them all by name

There's that chink in the shutter
the door to the skies invites
detached from this bed, I'm taking flight
- "a certain butterfly is already on the wing"*

*the famous last words of Vladimir Nabokov.
For my poetics prompt “Words of departure” we are creating a deathbed poem using some famous last words and imagining the scene or creating an imaginary one to match. Nabokov was an avid butterfly collector.