May’s Devotional # 49

Felino Soriano

I talked to her about the painting
on her cracked wall which clawed
across my gaze, the one that if I licked 
its center, green would paint cilantro
atop my oscillating tongue.  Brush
strokes were three dimensional,
wind-thrown, javelin sharp in light
shone in angles so perfectly petite.
The abstraction’s tongue spoke through 
its mossy center, beguiling me with its jazz 
colors, its blues, dusks and myriad of mixtures,
I listened, put my ear against its soul, went home
in appreciation.