On the long road there was a man.
He said his name was Memory.
I asked him where he’d learned to speak.
But he’d forgotten long ago.
I asked him what tomorrow holds.
But his guess was as good as mine.
I asked him how I’d come this far.
He checked his wrist. “Well, that’s the time.”
I grabbed his arm as he walked on.
He paused. He turned to smile at me.
Yet then he vanished, and was gone:
Also his very memory.