a catalogue of small wonders
Pressed between leaves of vellum, we keep the things that went quiet. A feather the colour of thunder. A seed that would not open. A letter in a hand no one recognised.
— vol. i, folio one —
algoha
where patterns whisper
scroll to descend ↓
— chamber ii · the collection —
on the patience of moths
They navigate by moons they cannot see, and arrive, always, at the wrong window. A faithful error, repeated nightly, becomes a kind of prayer.
fragments & marginalia
The margin is where the reader begins to answer the book. We collect answers here — scrawled, doubted, crossed out and resurrected in the same breath.
— chamber iii · the instrument —
north: the forgotten
east: the returning
south: the unwritten
west: the still
turn gently
— chamber iv · the passage —
— chamber v · the archive —
the map is older than the country it pretends to describe
a keyhole is a kind of question
some patterns are only audible to the patient
the moth is an honest navigator
we filed the silence under 'miscellaneous'
turn the dial; listen for the hum
— chamber vi · the seal —
a
until the next turning of the page