After all that, it felt as if no evening air had ever
Been as cool and comfortable, as mild, as all
Forgiving. A late picnic of beer, hummus,
Flatbread, cheese, and sliced apples on the balcony
Felt like an appropriate way to celebrate. The things
That were in our future called us on to them,
Coaxing us, knowing how skittish we were
About the inevitable surprise shocks and pains
Hidden in them, but knowing as well that, like wind,
Dust, rain, hail, lightning, thunder, beer, hummus,
Flatbread, cheese, and apples, we were drawn
Inevitably on toward them and our ends within
Them, whether we feared or rejoiced in them,
Whether we knew or not what meaning meant
For them or for us, given them.
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