There are two shades of blue as I walk along the rose-strewn avenue;

One for all I’ve lost, and then, all I’ve gained through you;

A tendency to cry, and a tendency to calm–

I reminisce of how both flew through you

As I walk along.

I haven’t walked these streets in ages;

No change in pace or gaze could fully compensate the changes;

Roses adorn the ground yet still fragrance the surround;

My mind tries to run but then is slowed down.

Is it move on or move along?

All the roses you gave me when we were young.

Is it move on or move along?

For no matter which I pick–

I fear you shall be anew on rose-strewn avenue;

And I shall see you there, raw and whipped;

And I shall move in the most disgraceful pivot–

I shall move only towards you.

You are the wound, I the healer;

Yet I am wounded as we draw nearer;

I do not wish to be the cyclic universe–

Created then collapsed;

I wish not to be the rose-scented fool–

Borne again and again into starry-eyed relapse.

To move on or move along?

I’ve never thought of going through–

This glistening evening without you–

Down rose-strewn avenue.

Will this little ritual heal you too?

Can I sit where we sat?

I will, I will,

I shall move through

And do that.