Twilight lover, fondly recalled. It's the opposite of a waterfall.

Forty seven percent of a winning hand. A brain surgeon with an unclear plan. I'm trustworthy, I always bear my heart. Unlike my brothers, the three upstarts.

I dig for shelter or dig for answers, one with claws, one with relentless banter.

I have skin but no bones, a mouth but no teeth, and I swallow your secrets while hanging from your arm. I sometimes have a hand in me, I also have a hand in my name. What am I?

In a twist, I bring forth day from night, a glass blossom that banishes fright. Filament's whisper, a spark's delight, casting shadows to dance in my soft, warm light.