Everything He Didn’t Say
You never walked with Lorca
over dusty roads – amongst
the fresh morning twang
of oranges bathed in rain,
or stood your ground to return
fire with blue flames
that burn the skin of beating palms.
You never planted your feet
in dirt beneath a choleric sun,
or turned your face to the sky
to listen with ringing ears;
to wail glissandi with guitars
fuming wild – your lips mouthing
prayers before a volley of silence.
©️Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 