The Mysterious Race

The Days move too swiftly

To leap off and stand beside

The Road chest heaving

Watching them go

And whatever I might

Have known about them

Slides off in the wind

But when I count them

Just to hear a voice

They seem hollow

And tenuous.  I am

Quite sure I made

Them all up though I can't

Remember doing it

Or the trouble it must

Have taken -- to wake

Up every morning and make

The twists, turns

And uncertainties;

Then lay them out on each

Road I must have traveled.