Hardbound (for Ray)

i love you with the solemnity

of an old story.

i have told and

retold you as

often as i read

you.

the leaves, faded on corners,

break on the occasion

of your name.

the ink is clean

around the edges

as i roll each letter

off my tongue and into

the world

where they come together

to be you.

then, for bedtime, i pick

my favorite parts

of you, those clearest

illustrations on the pages

aided neither by headings

nor dialogue balloons.

the margins around them

are uniform, some spotless,

some scrawled on with

little, minor bits of

you; some underhand comments,

remarks bordering on irrelevant,

some pieces

you may not even recall.

they are all you.