A Spectral Seed Poem by Denis Mair

(for abstract inscriptions in the art of Chaled Res)

Before any reader comes to look, there is writing;
words are running ahead of paper;
pen and ink are afterthoughts
waiting to join a game of leapfrog.
Before any monument can be adorned with inscriptions,
childhood must swallow the ordeal of calligraphy lessons.
While heroes are no more than anticipatory shadows,
history, with its just-in-time supply chain,
prepares to deliver confetti for a victory parade.
And this is not just a game,
because the ground floor of Being itself
is carved with exquisite scroll-work,
and who is there to witness that stage?
When the void was confronted by traceries
a river of seeing was unleashed
to cut a channel through time.
No wonder we get homesick,
considering how far we've come.
Our placental schoolhouse instilled a wish
to peruse the most fundamental inscriptions
or watch them strike a balance with dissolution.
They form a mist that accumulates in layers
that tenderly wrap around a seed of light,
which shimmers with rising and falling spectra.
As energy dances among transcendental numbers,
and white writing approaches a plenum state,
the seed of stories prepares for its expansion;
in the fullness of time we will read them.