I wait where silent choices keep their line, a crooked shape that hints at a design. I borrow form from what can’t stand, Then I fade when it returns to hand. My purpose lost when cloth grows spine, I return to shadows mute and fine.

Liquid gold, sludge of bones. I keep engines churning, furnaces burning, vehicles driving and politicians spurning.

I dance in curls of silk and lace, bringing every gift more grace. Though tied with care for all to see, one gentle tug unfastens me.

Fresh and warm, flavors galore. Blueberry, banana nut, and so many more.

I'm found in grass, and in your knife, In ice skates gliding, full of life! A helicopter's spinning wing. What a sharp, green, common thing?