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)

And for that alone I'm indebted to E. E. Cummings forever.

Tenderfoot

Just how do you start off a blog?

I've been doodling since I was ten, published my first flimsy poem a year later in the school magazine, and a couple such stints in high school, an editorial position with the publication by the student's society, and several calculated Facebook notes later, I think blogging might actually be long overdue.

Especially when you're someone who's thinking about stem cells one instant, Narciso Rodriguez the next.

Especially when you devour a Ruskin Bond, Paulo Coehlo or Kafka with the same voracity as a Thomas Friedman or a Malcolm Gladwell.

Especially when you can't do without regulated exercise, but you'd rather practice pointy toes and straight torsos dancing Latino and do those laps without foregoing the underwater cartwheels.

Unfortunately in a world where compartments are the best solution for information processing or storage or whatever else, I'm still looking for a haven for a jack of all trades.