Exode.

exode

   "odysseus, husband, tired wanderer, come now, calm down, rest.
   welcome home to your wife, child and bed; the bed has never moved,
   but how was i to know you if i didn't shift its position somewhat?

   in my place, preyed upon by many claimants and elegant suitors, my
   only defense is my wit: not auguries, dreams, or the
   human-impersonating gods: the gods led helen astray; romance led
   klytemnestra to murder."

   (the pin that the beggar recalled and aptly described, alerted me we
   had a hot potato in the palace; the bow was useless: telemachos
   almost strung it; the scar was commonplace: but the solid bed, the
   toy he made in his youth ...)

   now i am satisfied my odysseus is back
   back to end my static penelopey:
   the fawn who never released the hound's hold.