The crushed corner of your photograph

smeared by a finger painter

hasn’t talked in days

squirrels cross expectant streets

trees draw sky down tight

dogs rained on

bite into vanishing trees

set the memoir in motion

a smear of rain props up the grass

but the trees are not embarrassed

a crack whore struggles briefly on quick lawns

whistles by in a housecoat

with blue earrings reading from the book of time

workmen whitewash the psyche ward

unscrew grey bulbs from the antlers

couldn’t find lightning with their eyes shut

I dimly perceive

green flames in the orchard

somehow I never came that way

but I could hear the burning trees

a roar of applause, up in the hills

shining petals on a watered street

the wax that holds

that sudden spreading light

begins with someone I’ve been coming to

dusting for fingerprints

when the light shifts

below the ashes of the sun

at a show that never closes

You can listen to Jude read this poem on Sound Cloud by clicking on this link
https://soundcloud.com/judedillonreads/the-crushed-corner-of-your