Nympholepsy

A rapt state induced by craving for the unattainable.
    The Little Oxford Dictionary, 1934 edition


She’s tired, the nymph of this hill. Old, confined
where once there was water but is now dry.
Those fleeing lovers don’t seek her shelter.
Her hiding places vanished, tamed by stairs.

She’s known love—sapling young, wild gods gave chase.
She’d run. She practiced new ways to lose the race.

The people came—not slow—time is different
for demi-gods. No, few at first. They meant
nothing—an itch, a tickle. Watching their
games pleased her. More arrived, seeking shelter

and building shelters. A sudden city
appeared. All while she wasn’t quite looking.
A few knew her. They’d hear her. They could see.

Her hill holds her until time runs away.
She’s pleased by that. But no real gods come.
She wants balance, though. And worshippers, untrained
in some ways. She wants time to stay and come.