curling a stiff face into the rain
late after an early day
feebly the mind grasps after, tries
to make it mean something,
and from the morning's exam
the dipole by streetlight seems
an elemental, transcendent metaphor
this insertion with its equal
and apposite reaction which can be
a force in the fluid,
a push filling itself in behind
that cannot be seen from the side.
acoustics makes it the sound of one hand clapping
but aren't we always seeing so much else
of reaction, of virtual mass, in our days.
and so night, city, traffic, thoughts,
make space where you pass, then resume