Blood returns to the empty ghost

I sang so sweet the gods returned him,snatched the corpse and dropped my brother
blinking in the stunning sunlight.

My tears ran dry. I'd sobbed and sung and
beat my voicebox, banged my lyre
so loudly that the gods returned him,

tugged their tangled plaything, bent him
back to human shape, tossed back their
captive frog, unhooked their sunfish.

Chop the line and throw the sinker
deep into the river. Never
hook his heart again. Return him

tall and whole. Unchoke, undrown him;
bind him to his breath forever;
fill the year with Easter Sundays.

Pluto, stop. I hear you stringing
fishing line onto your spinner.
You cannot, having once returned him,
haul him from the gasping sunlight.