Out of the darkness in front of my eyes, my young son appears to float into the room. His head moves toward me like a moon rising over snowy fields, casting light on everything in his path. "Mom," he says, putting both hands on my face, "I dreamed I was a hamburger." He climbs into my bed, snuggles up to me, his back curving into my belly as if he were born to fit there. His hair smells like stars as I guard his sleep with my life. The darkness is never so deep that he cannot part it.