"Babylon has fallen, has fallen! All the images of its gods lie shattered on the ground!” - Isaiah 21:9
From anything that touches her she may recoil, go no further but retreat upon it all and reap words that are born and unfurl under careful hands, words that come from her trance in a silent monotone.
Then the Alice-like fall swings from dull thud to thud of her hitting earth. In her long descent, did she howl? I worry about that sound and watch how her own nouns jostle her now she is down, her thoughts are an empty train, doors open, and no-one getting in.
At times she had nodded drily at the abyss, it is not sunny at this time so there are no shadows, but maybe down there genius lightly spirals, words landing squarely, perfect fits; I edge warily, all blows glancing, until my mind connects with a bright shock. Somehwere, a train pulls off.