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


One thought on “The edge of his cloak

  1. Pingback: A woman and a girl | poemsinseason

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