Am, Am Not

I am not just bone
covered
in moth-wing feelings
fragile, wind-carried

I am iron pans
gripped with quilted
cloth
heavy and warm

I am rushing streams
and mossy banks
with abandoned nests
a-flutter with down

I am more than the joy
I quake forth
or the fear
I crush down into my pillow

I am more than either
you or I know
more than you
will ever love

I am not the quiet child
waiting for your cue
to make a sensible
and willing victim

I am the cough in
the silent theatre
reminding you
that I am there despite the silence

I am not the sum of all
of my parts
but more than the quotient
of a thousand stars in a box

I am all these things
and more
and none of these things
and less