News drops silently,
the opening of a mail,
barely a click from the keyboard
and a reality forms that was not there before.
The day fills with holes,
thoughts slip through
and come back reluctantly,
distorted, lacking limbs.
The day becomes the news,
the news is sung in the hedges,
strummed by crickets,
but nothing stops the ache.
Loss is like that,
and the staring into the void
that has opened up before the feet,
and the fear grins and grows,
that all the colour in the world
will pour away into the hungry dark.