And then what happened,
I mean, to Odysseus?
                     Well,
that depends, I suppose,
on who you believe.
The Greeks, having one
best seller, wrote a sequel,
but I think they made it up.
I heard that he stayed home,
and grew tired.
                 After
the battles and the glory,
he kept alive the memory of
city walls, and one shining
solitary figure.  Some say
the memory ate him away,
ounce by ounce; others that
the life of peace dismantled
the vision, stone by stone,
until the walls were a rubble,
the woman an indistinct blur
of light.      Either way,
the skin on his face and
shoulders loosed tiny fingers
and fell away, the muscles
melted into a pool of soft
tissue, the bones separated
into sleep.     Either way,
he grew tired, and relaxed,
at last, into a pool,
a sleep.