Everyone said that I didn't dream in color, but I didn't believe it. 

Every night, the color--deep, brown, like the secretion of an octopus--seeped behind my eyes where color was supposed to be forbidden.

Do you dream? Are your eyes open? Do you sleep soundly?
What  plagues my dreams? Who am I looking for?

In the small hours of closed-eye oblivion, I spun pigment into dream, into nightmare,
into vision. 

My eyes felt wide open and I would wake with a start.  I was obsessed with color, dreams of sepia, alizarin, cobalt, and amber.






I came to the conclusion