Slips of paper folded twice, four times
address of an unknown person
you are not there that I can ask
I have this urge to visit this person
whose address you had written so painstakingly:
there might be something of you left with him.
I have been advised to put all these away:
the tissue paper with a dab of eucalyptus oil
a strip of paracetamol, the bills paid to pharmacist.
Clear these from the pocket, fold away the shirt.
But there are your dead cells still at the collar
your fingers where you folded the sleeves –
I will let the shirt be.