i want to write a story
entirely in footnotes,
about girls and boys
and their headbands
and their running shoes.

and like vines
in shallow water,
they brush up
against each other
in the lukewarm rays
of springtime in the schoolyard.

and the sun does shine
on the lucky ones, always
the lucky ones.

i want to write a story
entirely in footnotes
and it will be about
the gentle hearts
and their veins
that are so breakable,

a plaster set
of small synapses
painted blue and purple
and dark deep red,

all the colors
that wrapped around
her pale and
light head,

all the colors
that your heart holds
when you are not dead.

and we are alive,
she said,

racing through the trees

behind the schoolyard,
down to the old pond
where they conducted
science experiments, and now

they're conducting themselves
like silent deer
hiding from hunters
with whistles and watches.

his running shoes
are dirty with soil
and her headband
is slipping down over her eyes

and he kisses her blindfolded
and their story is written
entirely in footnotes,
tiny glances and emotions
just under the algae,

their story is written
in tiny numbers
and tiny letters
for their long skinny legs
that match each other
in the water

with the roots
and their hearts
lukewarm
in the springtime
sun