Loss, is it?

that ache that feeling those wounds
marked lightly as gossamer threads
tendrils of slivered flesh
raining down
burn as they would spores or smores.

she left not turning and
then that veil came down
what was green what was verdant
sleeves worn and hearts rent
worn outside and not at all
dreams taken dreams twisted
dreams wrapt dreams strewn

he did that watched His hands
fall askew. the roiling never
ended not even when he threw
Himself into the flames
walked through could he and
yet He could not

not again not ever not for
a long time
Eons she whispered
then fell silent forevermore
as the crags pealed that
again and yet again