[Impatience. Uncertainty.
How do you know when it's done drying?]

I could smell the asphalt
As the road was paved,
A perfect rendition
Of all I hoped to achieve.
Did I step too early,
Making indents,
That could not be removed?
Did I stand by, as a storm
Passed through, and
Knocked over trees
Onto the drying ground?
Or was I the storm,
Taking chainsaws
To the cypress trunks,
Muddying the path
I had anxiously anticipated?
And was it that very nervousness
That made me finish
Before I had even started?