Morphia (an aubade to sleep)

Of late she has taunted me,
teased
and played coy,
beckoned me to her
only to retreat,
lured me on
only to flee.

Giving up the pursuit,
I have waited,
longing for her arrival,
only to despair.
Rising,
I have walked through darkness,
hoping that,
if I stop seeking,
stop waiting,
stop wanting,
she
will come to me.

And at last
she finds me.
As the wind roars
in waves through the trees
and the rain shrinks the night
to this one small circle,
she comes to me.
She curls around me,
she takes me into herself
and stays.

Still lingering this morning,
she pulls me close
and holds me,
wraps me in her drowsing warmth.
And I long to surrender,
to be drawn back into her embrace,
into her soft darkness.
But the rain has stopped
and the daylight intrudes.
And,
longing,
despairing,
though I reach for her
I know she has already gone.