Our skin is like bark
Old and broken
The wisened tree
In the woods
The weeds grow
At our stump
People walk by
Sometimes they pick
A little of our bark
We imagine the gaps
Like bruises
Alice wishes for some potion
And it appears
She sips a little
And giggles
Spinning on her tiny toes
Like leaves
Rusling on branches
The music of her turning
Keeps me strong
One day we will
Visit the forest
See the other
Oak trees
Run our hands over the bark
And feel like
We belong.
