There is something about a blank canvas,
a blank paper, a lump of clay
that draws you
lets you dream.
To focus and pour your entire being—
onto a dot, a letter,
a dimple on a clod of clay,
a swirl of a color,
a music note across the waters,
or a rising sculpture to the sky.
To spin stories that chart the stars and celestials
or twirl to the rhythm of the reeds.
To roam wide
and let flow