A dream is only a collage
waiting to be assembled.

SCROLL TO STITCH THE FRAGMENTS INTO PLACE

↓

The moon's other face

It keeps its pale coin turned away, and dreams in the negative — silver where we see shadow.

fig. 1 — salvaged from a 1962 almanac

An eye that arrived late

All night it watched the ceiling fan turn the room into weather. By morning it knew us by our walking.

fig. 2 — ink & gouache

Weather from a borrowed sky

The hills were cut from someone else's summer and pasted over our November without apology.

fig. 3 — landscape fragment

The patient hand

Every dream is stitched by a hand that does not hurry and does not explain itself.

fig. 4 — study in repetition

Coda — the red thread

Pull it and the whole night gathers like cloth. This is how a dream holds: not by glue, but by tension.

fig. 5 — binding