lilacs

i know spring is ending, because the lilacs are wilting – their pale purple has fallen to the ground, leaving behind brittle stalks of brown
nestled in rich green leaves.
as soon as they came, gone 
again; the flame that springs and settles,
death in the midst of unbound life. it seems like it should be wrong, in precedent, but i feel it too, mirrored within my own chest- 
something that blooms quickly, bright in contrast to stark cold, and yet i know it cannot sustain itself, yearning to let go, and i feel it dying. 
like the lilacs, who are parodies of their own richness, a contrast to their surroundings, it’s still almost 
refreshing, like the first blink after waking from sleep- the in between, but so constant, gone in the brushing of eyelashes. 

the heat is coming back just as quick as the flowers did, and now I cough green leaves and dead mauve petals. 

twelve days. 

i know summer is coming

because the lilacs are wilting.