Dust and thirst

 
I am gravel scraping myself raw,
scattershot, flung low and hard.

Your words smooth, then ravage, only
to smooth again. I am crunched underfoot

unable to cobblestone myself together.
The driveway starts here, ends there.

A short few steps — this journey does not
continue indefinitely. One day, I will rip it all up

and plant a garden. A joyous well will
keep it green, unbidden.