Dwelling in the quiet trenches,
the Groovestripe Bassoid bears along its sides
a series of deep, carved furrows —
grooves that hum as the creature moves through the water.
The passing current sets these striations singing,
producing a continuous tone that carries for miles through the abyss.
Those who have descended to listen describe vast choirs of such fish,
their voices aligning into long, harmonic waves,
as though the sea itself were rehearsing memory.
Scholars have sculpted replicas from marble and bronze,
yet none have captured the true resonance —
for its song depends not on matter,
but on the fluid motion of the living form.
“Sound is the shadow of motion remembering itself.”
The Maharajagar 