The Zither Player

If I could send a tender feeling through the sound of these strings,

The distant North Star would answer in kind.

Then I would take out this paulownia-wood zither for you once more,

And play it with all my heart again.

You curl your fingers like a butterfly taking flight from the window frame,

Flying past my fingertips and brows.

Your breathing gradually grows quiet,

So I turn out the light and hold you close.