Loss, the most violent storm she will ever encounter,
Winging away her loved one beyond arms' reach.
She stumbles, doubles over
Tears like acid scalding her face.
She sinks to the ground without volition,
Her fingers clawing the blood-soaked earth.
Nothing can make it better,
And nothing holds any worth.

Then a hedge grows out of rubble and sticks,
And sprigs leaf out into myriad arms,
Arms which take the form of soft white kittens,
Letters from friends, consoling hugs.
And as the arms weave a web of love and compassion,
They bear and rock her grief-stricken soul,
And tenderly embrace her bruised body
Until the storm loses its hold.
Then the arms relax, releasing the convalescent once more
Back into the world from which she tore