As a poet (yeah, that's what I said, a poet) I have spent a lifetime reading great poems on all subjects and trying to write a few good ones on one or two subjects. I would never try to write a poem on my current situation because I am too close to it, too emotionally involved to have the objectivity a good poem needs. So, I take solace in some of the great poems others have written. Here is one by Marilyn Hacker that slams deep into me right now:

Did you love well what very soon you left?
Come home and take me in your arms and take
away this stomach ache, headache, heartache.
Never so full, I never was bereft
so utterly. The winter evenings drift
dark to the window. Not one word will make
you, where you are, turn in your day, or wake
from your night toward me. The only gift
I got to keep or give is what I've cried,
floodgates let down to the mourning for the dead
chances, for the end of being young,
for everyone I loved and really died.
I drank our one year out in brine instead
of honey from the seasons of your tongue