One of my favorite poems has always been "Crusoe in England," Elizabeth Bishop's masterpiece meditation on alone-ness. Here's a snippet:
Now I live here, another island,
that doesn't seem like one, but who decides?
My blood was full of them; my brain
I'm sending smoke signals to a dispersing sky. I'm arranging tree limbs to spell out my name on the beach. I'm mountain-top-waving my tired arms. I'm tired of waving.
Rescue me, goodbye.