Think of me when you walk into a kitchen, smoke an illicit drug, or an anagram of the octagon sign

For some, necessary. Others? Accessory. Clear views, Apfel a muse.

I worship an Italian dinner that levitates. You might call me a...

I cut the gold from Sif’s fair hair, then paid it back with craft and care. I shaped a storm in hammer’s form, through trick and wager, slyly borne. And from a sprig both soft and slight, I stole away the god of light.

I rise without feet from grounded stone, Yet bow to none though I stand alone. I carry passage, but hold no door, And whisper weight from shore to shore.