A boy trying to learn calculus

meets a boy trying to learn

the way of the wind.

Both stand toe-to-edge

on a building nobody built

and try to learn how to fall.

_Listen to the sound_

_the earth makes_

_when it knows someone_

_is about to die._

__

_Listen, quietly._

_Can you hear it?_

__

_Can you try?_

A year from now,

the boy still won’t have learned calculus.

Instead, he will worry about forgetting

the taste of another boy’s lips.

He will shove his hell deep down his throat

and swear to kill it

if it ever dares to show itself.

_We are both sinners._

_We both bleed from the same hand._

The boy trying to learn the way of the wind

will have mastered it ten times by now.

He will tie his blonde hair

into a signal at the back of his head

that tells the boy who can’t learn calculus,

_I can teach you_.

In summer, they take turns

drowning each other in the pool,

flailing arms and labored breaths—

trying to prove to each other

that love was never made for them.

_Shakespeare will write about us from his grave._

__

_We will be the boys_

_who never let the stars decide their fate._

They return to the building nobody built

and stand toe-to-edge.

They sing hymns to smushed

blueberries and fireflies.

_Did you know God_

_is the thing that glows_

_when you close your eyes?_

__

_Look, closely._

_Can you see Him?_

__

_Can you try?_

There are things they know about learning

that school could never teach.

Even standing five centimeters apart,

they are forever out of reach.