Coming home 


He came home. She said nothing.
But it was obvious something bad happened to him.
He went to bed with his clothes on.
Hid his head under the blankets.
Pulled up his knees.
He is in his forties, but not right now.
He exists, but only in his mothers belly,
many skins away, in a sheltered darkness.
Tomorrow he has to give a lecture about homeostasis
in meta-galactic astronautics.
For now he's cuddled up like a ball, sleeping.