for L.K.


All that I have found beautiful in my days:

iiiii—the peach-fingered dawn, the naranjitas kissing the morning table, their oil on
iiiiimy fingers, on the rim of my full cup, the cool of his belly, its tattoo of thyme, its
iiiiidelicate fat, the herbs in the oil, the oil pooled on the bread, the children
iiiiiscreaming the pigeons into flight in the square heart of the city, the cities
iiiiithemselves, shivering in the night like tamed stars, the stars themselves, winking
iiiiithough the distance, the scent of seawet hair in the staggering night—

All that I have found beautiful in my days I have eaten.
Until nothing was left but the end of the world.
At the end of the world:

iiiii—an egg.

This, too, I ate.



Mihir Bellamkonda