The poem is a string of uneasy questions about what happens to the self, and the body, once some great moment of discovery has passed. The title sets this up: after the ecstasy, the laundry? It wonders whether ordinary life simply goes on, or whether we are still there to take part in it.
The speaker asks if they will keep their body "after I find myself," as though finding yourself might cost you something physical. The odd "one-eyed solicitor" with his "pedantry" suggests a petty, half-blind authority, perhaps a nagging inner voice, and the speaker admits they can't see why it should matter. Then comes the worry about being "present and able / to follow my business," meaning the everyday tasks of living.
The mood is curious, anxious, and a little eerie. The last image, a night tide rising into the kitchen, mixes the domestic with something vast and unstoppable. It feels calm and unsettling at once, as if something enormous is quietly entering a familiar room.