Waiting on Saturday

I wonder about the in-my-place-ness of you
dying for me as if to invite me toward
a better version of myself loving like you
and wanting you with me now in this place alive.
Sometimes I try to make your shadow cover me,
arms outstretched while I pray alone and imagine
the darkness aligning with my hands and feet,
the sun eclipsed behind the cross casting your shape
on everything while I wait for the light to come back
around and make the shadow unnecessary.