This, the Distance

As I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the dreams I wake to keep
that hold close the dearest memory,
make real the daytime fantasies
that I shall wake to find you near,
in the morning light, not far from here.
If there was a price that one could ask,
or a list of ending redeeming tasks
to take away the ongoing ache
to see your face, any item take.
Because my love, this is insignificant
to me when you go on, far more distant.
I count the days, and work the hours,
there are no more metaphorical flowers
that could simulate the way we grow,
or the way the rivers decide to flow.
No painter,  could posibly prophesise
the way the heart leaps in anothers eyes.
When the days grow long, and banish the cold,
the sand will become our fields of gold,
I would lie in winds on west side break,
if only your hand I could run to take.