In my dream I tell J about my new film project, editing  footage I’ve found around the room and showing it on an iPad that mirrors another tablet in my hand. After the flooding, cult members hand me their fobs and I rotate the overlays.

In my dream I bundle the stalks of day old tiger lilies with other leaves and flowers so that I can duel/flirt with the Maori assassin who has just arrived in the courtyard.

In my dream I straddle the giant rotating pieces of ice, smashing them into each other until the entire plaza is waist deep in blue-green chunks floating in water.

In my dream a brightly lit square tells the story , step by step, of the construction of a calculating robot.

In my dream, there are more flowers than we need. The buzzing won’t stop when we tilt our heads.

In my dream we are crowded around the back of the car, watching results, walking, waiting, concerned about the air.

In my dream I compare the sizes of octagonal bedsprings because the report is due.

In my dream I am scanning BlueSky, looking to find my name in someone else’s posts.

In my dream the rooms are regularly spaced.

In my dream I examine a wax box bolted into the ceiling: the first piece of a new show. Then B tells me how excited he is at the prospect of me working in series again.