Farther, farther, where you have forsaken glee
take to knee, and have that good cry.
The wind’s stopped ... caring
how the twilight comes,
if it comes … it can come
with pigtails and a little-girl skip
or baldness and an old man’s stride.
Our bruise of sky has turned from
a heartless purple-black
to a gassy planet’s sickly yellow.
The leaves are out
again, exhaling greens.
Against their backdrop
who can be afraid … of sparks to fire,
for we future fallen?
A Wordling Whirl of Sundays uses a dozen words taken from the Wallace Stevens poem Domination of Black. Check out the poem, and the prompt site to see how other's have responded to it.