Give me what’s on you.
Not keys or money.
Just what happens to be there.
The hurriedly scribbled phone number.
The note in your jacket pocket that also got dry-cleaned.
The button on the point of getting lost.
The words you came within an inch of saying.
Your strength that’s too much to open a door.
All that’s of no use to you any more.
Give me the rustle of your cotton.
The wind can do without it.