The Edges of Tiny Wings – a poem

​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.

*

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