safe:  those pyjama nights (all one zippered suit, even the feet), fingers still wrinkled from warm shower, ceiling sleepy falling of picture book pages, and when I was about to dream a gum-ball machine would come out of the wall, fish bowl bubble on a red stand that took the shiny quarter of a day, and drop out the small sweet sphere of that night’s adventure.  certificates for slaying dragons, rainbow pyramids, and distilled innocence of children’s programming.  later, the bubble-globe would be cracked by dentist drills and machine gun movies, filled more with the sand of normal sleep. magic stones and feathered wings folded in a drawer, the house I used to live in.