before, there were gears.

the tick-tock clocks,
pocket watches handsomely gifted and handsomely worn,
winding contraptions dangerous and deadly
full of teeth that ground you into dust
(and yet, they were beautiful)

now, there is

the echo.
of a thousand different things,
trinkets big and small, useful and useless
currents of what was once godly domain
harnessed and leashed like unruly wolves

the sound of a heartbeat unlike our own
but of our own making,

filling the sky in shades of gold.