A re-write of a very old poem, Transcendental, based on short prose by Virginia Woolf.

HUM


Dreamlike
on the blue-green
edge of reality;

weightless,
out of body,
into spirit –

a mere subsonic pulse,
a heartbeat.

Prescient, a palm
on my head
presses me down
deeper to
sublimation,

lungs inflated
from intimate,
unknown
mouth-to-mouth,

fullness blown
onto my lips,
idea a throb
in my throat.

Swollen, I float
mysterious,

first thoughts fluttering,
a quickening
of spawned progeny,
immaculate and inspired.

A bumble bee as yet
unmade for flight,
I rise awkward
yet somehow manage
to land with grace,

words my inadequate,
ephemeral wings
dissolving into light.