All that I have found beautiful in my days:
—the peach-fingered dawn, the naranjitas kissing the morning table, their oil onmy fingers, on the rim of my full cup, the cool of his belly, its tattoo of thyme, itsdelicate fat, the herbs in the oil, the oil pooled on the bread, the childrenscreaming the pigeons into flight in the square heart of the city, the citiesthemselves, shivering in the night like tamed stars, the stars themselves, winkingthough 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:
—an egg.
This, too, I ate.