the stuff dreams are made of

My stomach bulges and presses
against the sheets.

I look up at the ceiling,
and see black space,
no different then if my eyes
were closed.

In the distance, streets over,
there's the hum of a father's return home,
or maybe the white-tailed fawn
peering out of darkened woods,

or the kitchen screen-door
knocking against the house's frame.

My back domes and settles,
sinking into the curly-haired springs.

"Today was the day to save the world."

Last breath before midnight,
and I hold my breath.