I dreamt that I was working on a collection of haiku poetry written by many people close to me. The book design was uppermost in my mind. Everyone got one page for five or six poems at most. The contributors were to be presented in alphabetical order. I remember being a bit embarrassed for my own haiku to end up on top, but I could not come up with anyone whose family name would come ahead of mine. Among the poets I had my beloved, as well. I remember the names of several friends who contributed to the collection: Milan Brkić, Bob Collén, Giuseppe Mastruzzo, and Arnd Schneider. There were many others, though. The book was to be printed on exquisite paper that looked and felt like parchment. Each page was laid out so sparsely that the paper mattered quite a bit. I remember trying to find the most appropriate typescript for the book. I was also considering the design of the pages dedicated to all the contributors. Together with their short biographies, I wanted to use their passport photographs, albeit in black-and-white. I already had a few of those, and I was testing the best size for them. I kept working on the haiku collection even after I awoke in the middle of the night. I fell asleep soon afterwards, and the same dream returned. This happened several times. The book was almost finished by the morning. Only the haiku poetry written by many people close to me was entirely lost by then.