The deep black shine it catches light

The deep black shine, it catches light

and bends it, slick, a pool of night.

This little box, so dark and bright,

I picked it up, held it tight.

A rummage sale, a dusty shelf,

it promised secrets to myself.

But when I weighed its empty delf,

I found it was just its own shell.

No treasure there, no hidden hoard,

just wood made smooth, a clean facade.

The surface perfect, never flawed,

but hollow, empty, unadored.