Gary Witt Poems

You don’t seem to understand, old man,
I’m not gonna die, not today,
Not tomorrow, not ever.
But you just don’t get it.
...

Alone, the morning glories bloom,
And wither in a single day.
Together, their tendrils strive and stretch
In flowering spirals
...

A gentle hand over our eyes,
Death’s meager comfort is its certitude;
Its one true lasting pain found
In festering questions shouted down the hall:
...

In five days Raul will die from falling
On a knife blade held in the fist of
An acquaintance.
His good friend Paulo will hold him
...

The heron at gray dawn
Preys in stillness,
Then rises in muscular commotion,
Beating the air with huge wings;
...

I have no money but I am buying
Horses for someone else’s parade—
Rose-colored mares that stand four abreast,
Perfectly matched with spangled bridles,
...

Walk with me awhile
On this path we seem to share.
Rough though it may be, and steep,
Who knows how far it will lead us
...

He asked was there ever a time when an artist
Would brag of his palette or brushes or oils.

She said no I don’t think so why he said well
...

The cabbie wore his Kangol back,
Reversed; it looked like a beret;
Bohemian but still respectable.
His left eye, clouded, milky, never moved,
...

Longing for truth that saturates;
That soaks the skin, that clings and clutches—
Soothes, and will not release,
Absent ecstatic surrender.
...