End In Sight

There are times when I wake
that an afternoon light has tempted my eyelids,
made me believe sunlight,
golden and streaming,
was pouring in to cover my face,
illuminate me in honey.
I wake expecting radiance.
I wake, expecting a meadow and butterflies.
I wake, expecting willow trees and youth.
I wake, expecting beauty,
and it takes some time for the light to fade;
I run to catch it in my memory,
but it goes wherever it goes,
and I am left in a dim grey nowhere,
no end in sight.