On paper we record history for keeps. On phone we ignore some ignorant tweets. As a noun I helped society remember its prime. As a verb I am often seen as a waste of time.

When I’m too hot I wear a jacket; when you’re too cold I warm your hands. I leave pale halos where I linger, then vanish at the rinse. They call me a face, though I am not one.

I am not, yet all becomes through me. I end before I start, and start where none remain. I speak in circles older than sound, and hide the birth of light within my death.

I am a belt that holds a vast, blue gown. You cannot buckle me up or down. Ships cross my line, but I am never wet.

I spring from a box with a laugh or a crack, I lift up your car when the road fights back. I deal out the cards and I plug in the sound, Guess who I am, in all forms I’m found?