It was total chaos that night in the Garden.
Soldiers coming out of shadows.
And then the kiss—that most infamous kiss of betrayal.
Someone drew a sword and slave of a high priest lost his ear—
There was blood flowing everywhere until it was healed.
Then out of darkness came a young man, almost naked,
Running among the olive trees… I could not tell his age.
Perhaps he was twelve or fifteen or eighteen….
When they grabbed him, he squirmed away from grasp,
Leaving behind his linen loin cloth, running totally naked,
His bare skin reflected in the light of burning torches.
I never learned his name, though next day
Wondered if I saw a glimpse of his face
In the crowd gathered at the cross.
Of course by then, he had clothes again.
In future years, if someone thinks to write the story
Of those horrific, miraculous days….
I wondered if they’ll remember that naked youth,
Running in the shadows of the night.