Throughout this beautiful sonnet Neruda speaks of his beloved as something to be cherished as his most intimate secret and treasure. In the final lines, Neruda makes it known that, to him, there is no I without her, that her hand on his chest, almost touching his heart, is his own hand and, should he close his eyes, her eyes would be closed too, perhaps entwined in dreams, or, alas, together even in death.
I love that book, and I remember how it said that John Thornton was Buck's last tie to civilization, And once he died Buck was free to go primitive without anything holding him back. Loving him caused Buck to be unsure of himself and his primitive identity.
