Nomadic Tongue

I pass from one moment to the next thinking only of food, of sustenance and of creation. I dream of creating new flavors, searching cupboard and grocery aisles for sharp spice profiles, rounded bellies of sweet miracles yet unbirthed from oven. What better way to experience a country, a people, a past, a future but through the tongue, the teeth, through the dissolution of protein bonds and amino acids, through saliva. To experience cooked flesh of fish transformed to butter as it moves across ridges on roof of mouth, to digest in the fading sunlight, silhouettes of powerlines merging with mountains purpled by the passage of another day. It is a psalm, it is prayer, it is the denial of death, the truest form of faith.