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.
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