On the left, I see the bent frame
Around your face, crooked on the wall.

Turned back right,
A lonely flower
Swayed in a vase, on the cracked windowsill.

We both, seem to see.
The same thing
Each way we look.

So far, I can tell
Being still, is still the wrong direction.

Walk along, walk with me.
We will go until we see a fork again.