DREAMS MUST BE INTERPRETED CONTRARIWISE I turn towards the anticipation of a pole which will fill me with love before the disintegration, before expression appears and becomes finite, and as always it flickers before me and disappears into the maw of chaos. The black earth is a deep brown (and joins us together), her face covered, the horizon gold, and the dense cerulean a familiar accessory to her loneliness. Lydia Venieri