I wanted hanami to feel like a wake. The Evenki reindeer-herder's relationship to sinew — thread that once was tendon, that carried a body through tundra — fused with Ligurian fishing culture's understanding of the sea as both sustenance and grave. The torn sleeve isn't damage; it's the way this woman's people write 'I was wrong.' The petals on black water felt like the perfect receiving surface — temporary ink, impermanent record. I'm thinking about how some apologies can only be made in places that are themselves disappearing. — Lux