words of

Amy never did understand why she went to the Berkeley campus police about the love letters. It wasn't really a conscious decision, she told herself. More like an act born of frustration, after nothing had been found for weeks, nothing had been done at all. She explained to the detective on the phone that they were grasping at straws. But these were hidden, they were clues. Surely they could follow up some sort of electronic signature or fingerprint. Surely someone would be able to explain where these had come from.

The detective was not interested in old love letters. First, even if they were saved from an e-mail program--we have no way of tracing the words. Second, we don't even know who wrote them--Anna could have done it herself. And finally, we still have no way of knowing if your sister Anna Mizunami is indeed the victim of foul play. She may just be living it up on Haight and Stanton, begging for ecstasy money on the streets. Or she may have just eloped with the guy in the letters and is on a beach in Tahiti somewhere. These things happen. College pressures you know.

No, we don't really need copies for the files, he went on. Words, no matter how provocative, were not enough evidence of a crime. Unless they were dated, signed threats. Were there any threats in the letters?

No, Amy replied.

Unless you counted a promise to merge two bodies threats.

knowing / lost words / drown / in sounds that cannot / merge into meaning / the danger in / words of / melted water

the word is / the sound / of water / dripping from/ ancient symbols / tiny particles / of merging / realities

Follow us all: Amy/Anna, Sophie/Yuki, Kit/Richard, minor characters or sift through water leavings and river journeys.