After the fact comes the fiction. The cloak of false clothing,
wolf-man in wool, stalking his prey on the path through the woods.
After the fact comes the belief in anything but. Comes the fib,
the sham, the spectacular trick. A sure ruse, those false lashes
glued to each lid, batting to draw everyone’s look. After the loss
of the real comes the close call with feeling—then the fake-out,
the one-two, the roar of the crowd at truth, face-first in the dirt.
But even the fire eater knows there’s no profit in eating fire.
You who pulled the wool: we know where you came from. After
the fiction, the fact comes back. The fire will take care of the fire.