New photo poem today on the extreme sport of finding love in the city. Starting with a palate cleanser: an excerpt from Joy Harjo's "The Path to the Milky Way Leads Through Los Angeles":

We matter to somebody,

We must matter to the strange god who imagines us as we revolve together in the dark sky on the path to the Milky Way.

We can’t easily see that starry road from the perspective of the crossing of boulevards, can’t hear it in the whine of civilization or taste the minerals of planets in hamburgers.

But we can buy a map here of the stars’ homes, dial a tone for dangerous love, choose from several brands of water or a hiss of oxygen for gentle rejuvenation.

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