Homecoming

Some say that Hermes fathered Pan on Penelope, whom he visited in the form of a ram…others say he was fathered by all the suitors who wooed her during Odysseus's absence.
— Robert Graves, The Greek Myths
Honey and wine …
After so many disguises,
he looks at her, drinks her in.
His man's skin has weathered the years,
hers has become more translucent.
From deep stone vases, coral plumes
reach into olive light. The house
is opening itself to him …
Through its reclaimed spaces
she moves against a storied backdrop
of tapestry, her garments moulded
by weighted flesh. She breathes,
at every moment, all the moments
she has lived: the three-year shroud,
woven by day, unwoven by night;
the twenty-year absence emptying,
filling her like a gourd.
So her look comes back to him
from a long way: from her youth,
and the marriage from which has grown
this abundant order that now
she holds within herself; it will remain
whether he stays or goes.
As for unfaithfulness, most mythmakers
will say no, a few, yes:
there is always some other version.
But unless he trusts dreams and oracles,
he'll never guess, just as,
if rumour stops at the door,
she never will. Nor, if she knew,
could she question, challenge,
revile, abandon …
Honey and wine:
the honey clear yet holding
the hive's darkness within it,
a hint of smokiness; the wine
heady and warm, carrying him
out of himself, deep inside himself —
an elusive ruby
glinting from his goblet.