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More from Pablo Neruda

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

A Dog Has Died

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don’t now and never did lie to each other.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Tonight I Can Write

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way

than this: Where ‘I’ does not exist, nor ‘You’, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.