Vernon Witmer Poet Narrative

Notes About The Poem

A History That Breathes

History breathes as we awaken into each new imagination.
         Did you think this was a life? It is the seed of every growing.
          It is the wind and sand and rain storming. It is the pebbles
          and fingers forming; the sun and the blood, and the leaves
        greening, then browning, then gone. It is the snow of a single 
       season memorizing itself as frost formed upon a single missing 
        surface, always clinging. It is a difference; distancing us into 
          a distillation of our wish to become the knowing of our God 
             and to give ourselves the chance of choice over matter. 
         It is with great effort we become the softness of a thought 
            that endures; to make the imagination of permanence 
           a lasting measure and to make a history that breathes.

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