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in screw-tight slumber—
a rigid frame cradles
a golden songbird, haunting, beholden.
Notes arc out in curving grace,
bending toward a wrench’s face,
which hums along—a softened clang,
a metal harmony that rang.
Beside it, vintage poise
a needle box, so still, so coy—
balanced on a breath of brass,
teetering as moments pass.
Below, a tube of silence gleams
holding echoes from vanished dreams
All enclosed in a wooden shell,
where time and tone in stillness dwell.
