It is the middle of the day on this
busy Hong Kong street. Every collision
is inexplicable. It seems the whole
mass of the people is moving to one
end while every other person stands still.
Temperature rises as pressure rises
as long as the volume of whatever
contains us is constant. From collision
to collision, I am a molecule
in a fluid assuming (not knowing)
the shape of the vessel that contains it,
water making its way down to the sea,
the smallest possible constituent part
lost in thought, the river, still, moving.