the Countenance of Lilacs

They are as deep as the oceans and blue as clear skies. Within them, stories and secrets that few will ever know.

Film and photographs betray the truth of them. Perhaps Vincent Van Gogh could capture the depth that lies there, or Rothko, Klee, perhaps Twombly.

Still as the desert, yet raging with passion. 

I imagine how easily I could become lost, irrecoverably wandering the curves and glowing blue-violet layers, the vision, the countenance of lilacs.

As with any passionate journey, there are risks, should I trek deeper, or seek passage out. If I get lost, perhaps I can follow the tears.