These are the notes in the margins,
the scrap paper phone numbers,
the schematics on cocktail napkins;
ideas that come screaming in from the outer rings
and won’t stick around for scrutinizing.
These are the junk files,
the overflow,
the endless dross
from which is sifted
gold
and baling wire
and steel, suitable for forging.
This is the naked self,
freshly awakened.
Before the shower,
or the sunlight
have had a chance
to kiss the skin,
still shedding wisps of dreams.
I share these with you,
so that you know I am real.
I want you to see me
as I really am.
A captured moment,
a flash of inspiration;
temporary,
but I am here.
-HG
