We guide and separate, we divide and devastate, we make much noise but never speak with our mouths.

I pull without hands, yet hold all in place, I bend light and guide each star’s race, Invisible, I shape the cosmic space. What am I?

I am surrounded by the ocean, but I do not have beaches. You might find me in fusion.

I’m a phantom doctors once bottled for cure. A bastion of purity, elusive and sure. Philip’s dozen penned in codices of old, Ivan and Francis each a single tale told. The first rumors of me came from the sea. The last one was written by a Beagle.

I leap and bounce with energy bright, or flow in silence, fresh and light. I’m a season, a coil, or water’s gift, In one word, my meanings shift.