Winnie-the-Pooh and Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Among a plethora of poets, these two stand out in framing what the “bear of very little brain”–and so much heart–understood as the exquisitely lacerating inseparability of love and grief once the one we love is no longer within reach of our suddenly achingly restrictive five senses.
“How lucky I am,” pondered Winnie-the-Pooh, “to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
(My bear friend did not mean a permanent goodbye. . . but then, neither do I.)
‘Tis a fearful thing/to love what death can touch.”
“A Fearful and Beautiful Thing,” although that amalgamation may not fully emerge until separation.
Love as catastrophic good fortune.
How lucky I was.
A hand that can be clasp’d no more—
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.
Love in the Spaces 
It is the unseen real that we taste in love, loss, and longing. Death is the punch in the gut reminder that things are not as they were intended to be. And love, even if for a brief moment, inches us towards restoration.
You are very wise–and I am grateful for your reading and your thoughts.
Right back atcha! Thank you. Here’s to a 2020 full of wonder! Cheers!
LOVE this. Halevi struck my heart chords. Well done, sis.
Thank you–onward to 2020 and to find more poetry!