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?

I’m a small jaw at rest on a desk, fed slender rations of silver. Press my back and I forge a bridge, two loose wanderers now bound together. Starve me, and I only bite the air.

Speak my name, and I appear. A stoic tone, a cry of fear. You'll never see me, but I am there. A ghostly hum in winter's air.