Odysseus After Journeying to Hades

I’ve come from seeing Agamemnon’s shade.
I’ve heard his bitter whisperings
of wicked wives
and how betrayal that he paid his life to know
was salt poured in a wound.

And dark Achilles’, too
whose reedy voice
was grim and gray
like ash,
who seethed at how
no glory’s found beneath the earth.

And sighted so,
where shall I ever find my rest?

Who will host this twice deathed man,
gesture me with grace
to cross beneath the lintel of their doors,
offer me a place beside the fire
now that I have walked with ghosts
and trail their shifting shapes within my wake?