I could not tell you, the ways my mind sees to think.

Their stems shudder in exaggeration, as the breaths of air dance in tune to the musical notes of weeping. Lilacs fold their faces as purple tears slide out from underneath the moon of their eyes, like letters fleeing from envelopes in quick anticipated sighs of divulgence. I, too, want to know their symphony of secrets—the melody of meaning. So I lay, lowered, beneath the towering figures of flowers. One ear to the soiled ground and another to the open window where I hear them calling to their other. My heart pounds against the earth and I feel pressure to keep my body still and my soul from moving. But I hear them weep, feel their bodies move—breaking the air that captured my self and held it to form like solid ice. I fall loose and dampen the earth that traces my depleted body. Tears, all my own, stream forward and replenish the desiccated roots. The Lilacs fling their faces back in one elaborate exhale of radiance, as the fireflies swarm to kiss their fragrant faces. I keep there still, collecting dew in the warm afterglow.