After All is the last word from one of the most pensive and delicious of all our poets, the book William Matthews completed shortly before his death, just after his fifty-fifth birthday, in November 1997. A collector of experience, a gourmet of language, a notable expert in pleasure, Matthews could, without gulping, speak of "death flickering in you like a pilot light." In After All he seems to have been looking his last on all things lovely: music, food, wine, and especially love.