You studied the drop from the trail fifty to seventy feet straight into the river shallows, studied the light shining on the East Fork of the San Gabriel River flowing under spring white alder, rough pink and mauve igneous slopes crumbling into the gorge, behind me you were studying these as I was looking over them, to study the refracted sunshine and what it had to say, with blonde yucca spears gone to seed and the blackened dead yucca spears cracked pods empty many months in winter, as if we walked together (you as much as I) walked the trail high above the river pouring through boulders in a gravelly bed, looked upon these things together: while I studied these things—we were talking—your voice was with me still—wherever you went about that wild life of yours.