The air is moist. You can tell. It hangs transparent and velvet touching the sky. We sleep in life and in death. One would think it would be important to manage the time we had so that it were used as efficiently as possible, so that we could have touched the moistness of the sky. Check that off. So that we could have breathed the dust on the back on a pony. Check that off. Yet in death none of that matters. So it seems. There must be something else that matters. To sleep well? Because here we truly sleep.