Run Tiger Beetle

August 16th

sun-dried 

gravel.

Vintage 2012.

Edged with

silky dogwood

and American

purple beauty.

The cousin

of Italian

farmland

encouraged 

me to 

walk through 

this garden

with bleeding

parts. 

The gentle 

neigh of the

wild

horses

reminded me

of missed 

comfort.

The stucco

gate 

reflected

my beauty 

and blew me

a kiss full

of honeysuckle

wishes. 

The calls

of the

low

water bridge

crackled 

against rocks

sounding

of strength

and 

grit. 

Folding

pain into

the gravel

under my

feet 

it

sternly echoed

the call of 

the 

tiger 

beetle.

And I 

ran

as 

one.