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 we tagged his melody? Have we

sunken his star in cement? Have we

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 us?

Our 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?

[sonnet]