Separation by W.S. Merwin
Today I was at the bookstore, sneaking pictures of books and strangers. And then: something falls out from the shelf, at my feet. I pick it up, dust it off, as I am wont to do of the things that come to break my heart in tiny little pieces. And what do I know – a poem:
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.