Rejoicing Well

Euterpe dances in pellucid dress
against the sea. She is the ocean stone
that toils toward the shore - her tears caress
her riven cheeks. She clicks, bone against bone,
a fictive note, her long toes zither fast
among the breakers as she sways the wind
against the sea. Her singing cannot last
a printed page, recognition is the end.
No painted face reflected in the long
morning's moon, just a clack of spent coin
in an empty glass; a formal song
that stirs no wind - each song is sung but once.
We float to shore singing from her sea
searching inland, repeating from memory.