Kate

Bark

Torn from its master,

the tree.

A distorted shape.

Bumps of wood along the surface.

The shell where bugs 

crawl and that children tear.

It is like the strong outer

skin of a crocodile,

protecting the softer insides.

Patterns lie beneath the surface,

tracks of insects long gone.

The skin is flakes of ash 

from a fire mixed with

a dusty brown.

Kate