Finally I saw you like the color that drips over the crest into the winter valley; the color falls in ribbons; in rhythmic gymnastics the ribbons remember their ups and downs; their path is predetermined; you ran down the crest into focus; then you cupped your hands on either side of your mouth and shouted: why does the stream narrow in the winter? you were talking about the shallow creek that dribbles past a bridge of stones here in the winter valley; as you shouted I was in the middle of throwing my left foot onto a real slimy, slippy stone; now my legs were in the splits and my arms were out in an airplane; this was by no means a position that would permit me to cup my hands and shout back; so I spoke at a normal volume: hey, are you seeing all these stones above the water? my face did its best to gesture at all these stones; wasn’t loud enough; you answered your earlier question: I think snow melt’s been freezing; and I think usually your questions are talking points; I’m snow melt; got a high albedo to your questions; then you said: where could a stream like this even come from in L.A.? I waited for your answer; nothing; I sat there suspended over choking rain water; nothing; with my legs in a lunge and arms outspread I figured I looked like some lame middle-school kid trying to pick up fencing; no answer; maybe I’m a Greek statue that’s sexy in an awkward way; I said: hey, let’s take a pic in front of the one that’s lost its head; finally I grabbed you tight around the shoulder and pulled you in; cheese.

2026