After vigils of worry and fatigue,
she slipped out of our fingers,
a hole, a whole vanished
woman where once she
laughed and breathed.
One foot at a time, we walk
and listen for her hollow step.
Our day is shades
of gray and black.
Voices whisper words
that don’t make sense
from somewhere we can’t see.
Yet all around a blur
of color holds us in its womb.
published in Sonnets to Sing
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