Zither

Zither 

Is it true that you saw Eurydice among them? 

     —Adonis 

His tub of water frozen—, his dressing 

room mirror cracked, abandoned by him. 

     Are his notes now mist or is he fog? 

Have you tagged his melody? Have you 

sunken his star in cement? Have you 

torn his face and plastered it on posters? 

     Affixed it on jelly jars? Sharpened  

          his teeth then made masks of him 

     for children to wear on Halloween? 

          Didn't he sell enough notes for you? 

Your ears, drawn down by gold bangles, 

ceased to listen—, weren't there boats 

          against these banks that bent to 

     salvage him, to restring his zither?