Novel progress has been stalled this week by various abstract "busyness." I'm going to try to write a lot more of it this weekend, since we're evidently going to be enjoying some lovely sleet, freezing rain, snow, and other unpleasantness.
Here's a sweet poem for today by the late, great, e. e. cummings, who may have been a raving lunatic and an antisemite, but he was also a literary innovator the likes of which the world rarely sees.
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
