I miss you golden girl, cut short of your life girl, sister girl, magic hands girl, endless potential girl, stitched into every pore of me girl…I hope the sun is warm wherever the universe sent you and that only goodness can be born there.

Now I knew I lost her —

Not that she was gone —

But Remoteness travelled

On her Face and Tongue.

Alien, though adjoining

As a Foreign Race —

Traversed she though pausing

Latitudeless Place.

Elements Unaltered —

Universe the same

But Love’s transmigration —

Somehow this had come —

Henceforth to remember

Nature took the Day

I had paid so much for —

His is Penury

Not who toils for Freedom

Or for Family

But the Restitution

Of Idolatry.

EMILY DICKINSON