For Godot

We have not met
And yet some part of me
Has held your shape.
An empty doorway fills
With your familiar posture
Limned with light only
To dissolve into a stranger.

I have never heard your voice
And still a laughter lifts
With promise, but leaves
A passing sadness
That it is not yours

We have never touched
Yet my soul will leap to meet
The suddeness of hope
Held out in a hand
Whose touch reveals
It is not you

I do not fault the ones
Who are not you.
Each one has given me
A taste of your sweet absence.
And though we never meet
Some part of me has held,
And holding true,
Will love you even then.