Edged softness swarms on tiny wings,
The constant lull of airborne things
Roams in the air all around, confusing
The senses, nervous tics and tangled starts.
Ahead, behind, in the air, all around,
Too hard to tell for the full sound
That seems to be everywhere, soft
The susurration yet deadly in slight.
Try to ignore the possibility, wings
Bearing stings from furry, bulbous bodies,
Or thin striped ones, vicious in hive
Blind loneliness; ever and anon rises
That edged soft blurring winged hum.