Insomnia by Richard Dinges, Jr.

I wander the house at night. the dog takes my place in bed beside my wife who keeps her dreams behind breath's soft rustle. Her eyes flutter beneath an illusion I cannot share. The cat dares me to grow fur, spread claws and curl a rough tongue into air that tastes of curdled blood. When I fail, the cat tip-toes into shadows. I remain within the same old bare pink skin. Cars pass the house in the middle of the night. I catch their headlights through the window by surprise. We stare unblinking at each other through a brittle glass pane, and then the car rushes past to catch the dawn somewhere just over the horizon. I am left to look out into the dark yards. My own pale reflection peeks back inside and envisions the warmth of a soft bed hidden somewhere behind me.

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