(For the creative souls at Woodflock,
which is all of you)

Before you put pen to page,
fingers to strings or keys,

blow a note or strike a chord,
before you pick up the brush

take a photo, feel your hands
roughen under raw clay, dance

a step or turn ingredients into
edible bliss, the realm of possibility

stretches long, stirring confusion,
excitement, fear, and the tiniest

bit of hope. If you say yes to
what emerges, if you can hold

the just-born with tenderness
and patience long enough

to see the brightness around
its rough edges, it turns out that

the constellation of your voice,
your messy fingerprints,

your love and joy in the making
runs over and under and through

your creations, these tiny points
of light that are your finest gifts

to the world—and I, for one,
can’t wait to see, to applaud

your something new.