AFTERWARD

If only 

we could stand 

far enough back, 

we might stand a 

ghost's chance 

of almost apprehending

that aspect of our lives 

which we like to call 

the plot 

as naught 

but a brittle yet 

serviceable fossil—

cleaned, mounted, 

scrutinized 

after the fact

of getting pickaxed

and spaded 

and gouged from those mountains 

and mountains 

of all of our

unconsidered actions.