I need your love so bad. You were shredding
when you wrote me that postcard that said Dear Emily
and We are in the tallest building here and then 
it is beautiful. Your fingers didn't work too good 
when you died, their electric thrum inching out 
of the pen's crooked rhythms. You wrote Tell your mom 
+ dad and your sisters we are having fun. On the other side
there's a sailboat in the sand. I like your music and your 
good ear. Hope you can come here some time.