Sleep (n.) is summoned by lying down: to limit existence to a place, to a position.
Sleep (n.) is a freedom that is only a thought — fragile, soft-winged, a second state with its own failure already written into it.
Sleep (n.) is Jonah's last way out: watching his flight fail in the raging storm, he goes down into the ship's hold and falls asleep.
Sleep (n.) is the uneventful event, the inward event — participation in life by non-participation, by the elementary act of resting.
Sleep (n.) is contact with the protective forces of a place; to seek sleep is to grope for that contact — and one wakes shut in one's immobility like an egg in its shell.
Sleep (n.) is always on the verge of waking: it communicates with wakefulness while trying to escape it — 'I sleep but my heart awaketh.'