In the small museum, a drawer of shells, labels browned. A child whispers each Latin name as if calling them back. I think about how naming steadies the hand, and how some days refuse names and must be carried, unlabelled, like smooth stones.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
In the small museum, a drawer of shells, labels browned. A child whispers each Latin name as if calling them back. I think about how naming steadies the hand, and how some days refuse names and must be carried, unlabelled, like smooth stones.