poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

He came home. Said nothing. 
It was clear, though, that something had gone wrong. 
He lay down fully dressed. 
Pulled the blanket over his head. 
Tucked up his knees. 
He's nearly forty, but not at the moment. 
He exists just as he did inside his mother's womb, 
clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness. 
Tomorrow he'll give a lecture 
on homeostasis in metagalactic cosmonautics. 
For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep. 


Translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

Added: 9 Mar 2003 | Last Read: 23 Nov 2008 10:12 AM | Viewed: 5560 times

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