I’m out here in this pew
asking you what I should do, 
because I ache for everything 
and nothing.
It all feels empty-
like my chest 
is a cavern,
and canyons cover my lungs.
Like my heart bears craters as the moon, and 
my skull is enveloped by branches 
of barren trees.
I would do most anything
to know how to 
stop the pain 
of wanting a love
I may never get.
Yet I perish at the thought
that I treat your empty tomb
as if it’s not enough.
But I can’t see past 
the dawn of that day
when women still mourned
the brokenness of your bones.
Maybe I ache in such a way
to behold a sliver
of your heartsick Cross-
but how I yearn for the morning 
of the Risen Body.