bird by bird

by e e cummings it may not always be so; and i say that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch his heart, as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair lay in such a silence as i know, or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be, i say if this should be— you of my heart, send me a little word; that i may go unto him, and take his hands, saying, Accept all happiness from me. Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

He is calculated And considers maneuvers. He counts letters And squares methodically. It is silent While I wait. On the other side Of the table, My tiles are Ready to play. He has letters To make words, But he hesitates To commit. It is silent While I wait. Finally with defeat, He lays down letters. "DIAPER" For 10 points. Without pause, I place my tiles The move I had been Waiting to make. His turn again. And his scrutiny Of the game board Resumes. This is us now, Our life. He is irresolute.  I am ready. In the end, He wins the game. But it's more fun To play my way.

In between glasses of red wine, Cold cans of pink beer, And cups of Hawaiian coffee, I have loved you. In a luxury building downtown, A quirky 1-bedroom on Corona Street, And now a dream house in Congress Park, I have loved you. On a twin mattress on the bottom bunk, In sleeping bags in 11 Mile State Park, And on a California King under soft sheets we share, I have loved you. In 2 years and 2 weeks, Between then and now, Here and there, I have fallen in love with you And where I landed when I fell Is now where I live, With you, Forever.

The Road Not Taken isn't about Being unorthodox, Or brave, Or even right. It's about making one choice Between two paths, Worn equally, And walking along it. It's the way we chose Every day, To love or to leave That makes all the difference.

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, ...

By: Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.