A Reading

I found him on the beach, half-starved on his driftwood
raft, barely able to form the sound of his own name.
Once he could, I watered him, broke his bread,
hardly gave him credence, led him to the palace
anyway. Nausicaa was chuffed. But the day
I recovered overnamed Odysseus, naked
but for a loincloth and seaweed beard,
was the night I met you. Everyone we knew
crammed in a sandy cove, the bonfires drowsiness,
the big man's susurrence, lulled me to agony.
I was ready to grab a bottle and vamoose

when I caught your steady, indifferent gaze
and the universal two-finger sign for 'smoke'?
You asked who he thought he was, whether his story
were fiction or memory, his or someone else's,
who'd believe otherwise? Any answer were overlong,
but mine was studied, earnest, and as far beyond my recall
as your wood-brown cloak, your eyes wood-brown,
even your raven's beard and your arms spread
like a raven, aren't. These fragments coalesced
one night in dream as a monstrous whole. As for all
that happened next, you remember as well as I do.