"New Year's Day Nap" Fiesta Bowl on low. My son lying here on the couch on the "Dad" pillow he made for me in the Seventh Grade. Now a sophomore at Georgia Southern, driving back later today, he sleeps with his white top hat over his face. I'm a dancin' fool. Twenty years ago, half the form he sleeps within came out of nowhere with a million micro-lemmings who all died but one piercer of membrane, specially picked to start a brainmaking, egg-drop soup, that stirred two sun and moon centers for a new-painted sky in the tiniest ballroom imaginable. Now he's rousing, six feet long, turning on his side. Now he's gone.