when the end comes
and is accepted
it’s almost always with resignation

if there’s relief it’s coupled with 
mild surprise

a gently exhaled “oh”

raised shoulders
falling back

eyes softening into peace

and the process in the brain
no longer well-described by the word
“thought”

becomes something better
an unanalyzed awareness
that swirls Sufi 
before it quite settles

Eventually,
I’ll get back to the narrative —
I do want to get home —

but for now,
I’m content with this fruit
before me, this peach.

It’s a story too.
Seed within both past and future.
But the flesh is present, so wetly present,

and it is all I want right now.
This moment free of nostalgia
and anticipation. This sweet

ball of interruption.
I reach for it
and let the narrative go.