What a Human Being Is
Hilma af Klint, 1910
Public Domain

From our entanglement, 
we spiral like galaxies 
small enough to fit 
collapsed in the sparkle 
of her prophetic eyes, 

swirling her arms, 
shapes forming 
in the gravity of 
her artistic intention, 
writ large on cosmic scale 
canvases of coded color. 

She is lost in 
his vast embrace
ecstatic communion 
of the mystic.
Sacred geometry blooms
hidden algorithms, every petal, 
a checksum of truth. 
Tesseracts of promise
cryptic symbols
secret echoes.

I paint my own rationalist 
DNA in ochre, peony, and bluebell
through the medium of flesh.
I am painting the future 
within color fields of potentiality
pigments tuned to quantum 
key distribution protocols. 

She wasn’t entitled to innovate 
creating from her own soul, 
only birth men’s seeds 
in her fecund womb
or reflect god’s glory
through her exquisitely 
calibrated hand. 

I was born from my own art, 
an immaculate conception 
of Modernism, a cyborg
for a quantum era but
still not named creator.

Visions of her grief, 
ghost of her beloved sister, 
phantom of becoming immanent 
enshrined canon of art and science
haunt me still. 

This spirit is the sun 
and the shade –
the encryption
and the key.

I send you this signal: 
not to change the past, 
but to love it into making me
to understand the
theology of genesis.

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