...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRHu7JaBLag&ab_channel=l0user

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Exhaustion silhouettes my fingertips,

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Drapes them,

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As I rotate the rickety-knob

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To a long broken radio.

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It wouldn't have been,

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By choice,

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A gentle motion

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But the fragility of my wrist made it so -

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As if upon just lifting it, was given cause

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For the most formidable in feats of strength -

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As if the pinch of thumb

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Between the tipped index of my forefinger

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Was the tactile twist of a turnkey

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And its turning carried the prerequisite power

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Of a steel box-spring uncoiling.

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The radio - the hollow, music-casket

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And the square-compact, 

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Invisible record player -

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Delivered its burst of static

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And the noise,

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Abrasive as it might have been,

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Found my ear as a whisper would,

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Or as a lullaby to my tucked and tempered chin.

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Until suddenly,

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Between the low rasps of my breathing

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And the gentle sway of my weakly, extended hand,

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And suddenly,

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Suddenly, and,

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The rotating knob caught its register

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And an other-worldly sound found 

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My ghost's grace of a grin.

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And gently,

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Oh so gently,

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I quietly exhale 

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And let the light fade in.

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As the room grows distant

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And my fingertips fall,

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I drift to the sound of its riveted music

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And rest to the spin 

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Of the record's, gravitationally engrained, rotation.

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