(How to make an angel)The sweet freedom of sleep. Designed and kindred to rebirth. A mysterious shamble through fields of saffron and gold, sunshine and mist, he lay on the sane leather comfort of an overstuffed couch dreaming the dreams of angels and wild beasts, pilgrims and magic spray. He slept and the peril, the insistence of everyday living, passed him by in seconds, hours and years.
The sun repeated its suspirations, day to night, night to day. The moon watched in nonchalance as it waned in tides of swollen romance. He sported chance and sustenance, never aging, remaining forever young while the countryside went through revolutions of change. The house decayed and the couch became a mound of fertile earth, melding with the wheat bloom and saffron spells of sanctity. When he awoke a winged myth he was in possession of brilliance and the blessings of heaven.