The edge of his cloak

The edge of his cloak
was enough;
the slightest brush of cloth
against the eager hand,
the faintest flicker of light
within a darkened place,
the smallest whisper
amidst the clamour,
the softest rustle of a breeze
among the fallen leaves,
the briefest glance of recognition
in a room of strangers,
the gentlest sigh,
the tiniest touch,
the least shiver of presence.
The edge of his cloak;
it is enough
for the healing
and the living
and the singing.

 

Ken Rookes

 

Another poem about this story can be found here

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One thought on “The edge of his cloak

  1. Pingback: A woman and a girl | poemsinseason

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