I carry food both warm and neat, or send a ball down a polished wooden street. I’m ceramic in one, a motion the next, a single word with meanings mixed.

Tip of the one pyramid, an all-seeing eye on American money. Originally from Bavaria, hidden members, coded communiques, meant to prevent abuse of power. Often seen as a hidden group, it sounds like an Italian light fixture to me.

Replace my second with E and you can wear me Replace my first with P and go back in time Replace my last and put flowers in me. Leave me alone and you can describe outer space

Until I am used, a Blank canvas awaits, Words dance in silent whispers, To tell Fragile stories that deliver. I come from a tree but not with a breeze, Although you can say I am a white leaf

I have a tube, but no TV. I have lenses, but no eyes. I can show you the stars, but I cannot make them shine. What am I?