When I was wandering last night through an aisle of a bookstore in the city, after I’d left the building where I work, but before I’d gone down into the subway to wait for a train that would take me in the direction of the neighborhood where my apartment is, so I could sleep, I saw a book of poems that I didn’t reach for on the shelf, but that caused me to stop a moment, in the place where I was standing, when I noticed its title, which was, What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire.