A simple knock, unintentional thing,
Synergistic explosion, the rumble
Begins, tiny, murmur-like Babel
Tumble of voices asking, gently
Wondering at rising winged whispers
Emanating, from where as yet unknown.
Just a tiny accident, equation
Of proportion inverse to the producer,
The blind hive has awoken, a rhythm
Finally recognised by stunned standers,
Curious and afraid to finally find
What waits within the beehive mind.
Near, close to, blind but not quite,
Soon the purpose will become clearer than
Polished crystals showing such colour
In purposeful action, far from mindless,
Secret, hidden movements about to be borne
On the back of a knock; so simple a little thing.
Panic, when the first furry honeymaker emerges,
So alive in flight, high pitched whine, not obsessed, only true
To itself in focus, no furrowed brow, the comb burrows
Abandoned to seek and destroy that slight disturbance
And its cause, the source, the unknown finally seen,
In striped buzzing.
Frightened, the standing picnickers scatter
From the blurring buzzing flight focus
Of that swarming single minded, purpose bent…