Odysseus

Can he see us, Odysseus, wandering the skies while he skirts sea islands in his fast black Pentaconter; fast back flying, we were taking in more than the view but I left a feather as a clue, just in case. Does he know she waits, knitting, unravelling, purl one, knit two, legs crossed on her olive tree bed? She sees us as we see you; he will know soon.