Rejoicing Well When Lost

Euterpe dances in transparent dress
against the sea. She is the ocean stone
toiling toward the shore - her tears caressing
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.
She leaves no 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 sung but once.
We float to shore singing from her sea
searching inland, repeating this from memory.