The Secretive Muse

At night, when darkness has
ushered light to day's exit,
those innumerable concerns
and cares set aside and I am 
in bed, my body fast in sleep,
She comes quietly with her 
divine purpose, to commune.

None but I know her, it is
to me only she devotes her
presence, revealing herself
and inspiring sleep to flee
my resting mind from its
quietude in a bondage that
quells its need to wander.

She delicately probes and
stimulates that drowsy state
to half-alert, skilfully offering
phrases, perceptions, aphorisms
acute and pleasing, generously
offering them for my very
ownership and proud claim.

We must, perforce, have signed
a secret compact, so elusive it
hovers beyond my recall, for
while I celebrate in possession
of such wordy gifts, she departs
and when I wake, recall fades.

Splendidly creative she is,
and though having free entry
to my mind, loathe to place
these verse in my care in waking
state, lest I claim her authorship
for my authenticity, the tease.