Prospects In Morning

I wanted to
return
to that place, inches
from sleep, mere
moments from
the bed,
before wakefulness,
that thorny crown,
impressed itself
upon my brow
and stole my dreams,
my sustenance.

Instead I had to
hunt, to scratch
among the oddments,
for any trace
of gold, any nugget
that the morning,
the thieving bitch,
had overlooked,
left for me to prize.