bird by bird

History of Love by Paul Hostovsky Because he loves the way she has of touching him and because she loves the way he has of loving her each has learned the other's way and the other's touch so when love turns and the world turns and the lovers turn from each other and go to other lovers they take they take all they know of love and of touch and they give it to another and in this way love grows rich and wise and wide among us and in this way we are also loving those who will come after and those who came before we ever came to love

The Sunday Times waited for us on our Harlem stoop, Protected by a blue plastic bag. We'd take turns bringing up the paper, And unfolding sections on the dining room table Where, at 24, we did almost no dining. The Travel and Arts sections were separated From the Business and Science sections. I'd devour the Modern Love column, And E would study the theater reviews. The Sports section was almost discarded entirely, Except we used the blank space to leave each other notes Like roommates do. A thick, black permanent marker wrote: "We're out off of coffee, I'll pick some up." We were New Yorkers then, Doing what New Yorkers do: Taking only what delighted us, And repurposing the rest. ... No longer a New Yorker, That blue plastic bag now appears on my Denver porch, And B and I take turns bringing it in, And spreading the contents out on our dining room table, Uncovering the Modern Love column first and always. While B scrambles eggs,