The Venus Tree

Denuded by the wind and rain A tree without its bark stands Dead but rooted still. Its limbs not fallen off, but sawn. As headless as a Grecian statue is. A sun bleached desert tan With arbitrary swirls of gray. This driftwood’s half a continent away From either ocean’s seething waves. Woodpeckers have hammered out Whatever’s left of life inside. How can so dead a thing, be this sensual? More erotic than a tree Has decently a right to be.