Matilde, where are you? Down here I noticed,
under my necktie and just above my heart,
a certain pang of grief just between the ribs,
you were gone that quickly.
I needed the light of your energy,
I looked around, devouring hope,
I watched the void without you that is like a house,
nothing left but tragic windows.
Out of sheer taciturnity the ceiling listens
to the fall of the ancient leafless rain,
to feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned;
so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.
- Pablo Neruda, sonnet LXV