I am the fundamental building block of language, You wouldn't be able to read or write without me, If you say me with inflection I am a question of 'for real?', But you can also say me flatly to say that you agree

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.

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.

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?

An oversized communication device. Although you can’t make calls on it as its name seems to indicate.