Undone

Dead birds, my Lord -
crooked hyphens down the road -
I drive down his poem and find
The Joke.

Blurs between my lashes,
tears that consummate nothing -
I read to myself
a broken wreath, a hurried breath -
crooked hyphens down the road,
an ode
to death.

Crisp like a script,
the wisp on his face -
I read him between the blurs -
and the poem,
a twist in the tale.

Smeared around the eyes,
the black lyric belies
its make -
every word towers a sunflower,
eclipsing the sun,
that is our love.

Between the hyphens
are our 'beyond the horizons',
but -