I hang in doorways, yet I never knock. I'm kissed for, not with; a living paradox. Green when the world goes bare, I cling to height, A parasite that somehow feels like light. What am I?

I wait beneath your weary frame, A silent seat that knows your name. I soften nights and hold you still, Then greet the dawn with gentle skill. I do not dream yet guard your rest, A padded cloud that serves you best. What am I, soft and wide and kind, Where sleep can settle body and mind?

I keep you dry when the heavens cry, A colorful shield when the storm passes by. I have buttons or zippers, a hood for your head, But leave me behind when you head off to bed. I’m slicker than skin, and I swallow the drops, Then I hang in the closet as soon as it stops.

An age old question. What washes up on tiny beaches?

I can block your path, or I can keep others out. I usually reside next to fences or walls.