Perhaps you've seen him before.
Regardless, for one night only,
you are invited through a door,
into a room, to look through a window.
Somewhere between performance,
confession, dream and accident lies the answer
to a question that you are yet to ask.
This is not a biography.
It isn't a lecture.
It doesn’t count as therapy.
This is just a dream.
But it isn't yours.
And it isn't Henry Wilson's either.