Vernon Witmer Poet Narrative

Notes About The Poem

I Dreamt I Was Awake

Sleeping while awake, 
The sky before me split, 
Broken by a wisp of smoke 
Rising snake-like slow.
A black-stained tombstone 
Footprint, left upon 
An amber ashtray 
From a martyred cigarette.
A testament to children,
Born as smoke, 
Slender ash-white 
Silken strands 
Allowed to wander.
They step so lightly 
Into depths of air 
To slowly drown.
My pausing eyes 
Shift chameleon-like 
To ears
To hear a shifting feint 
Of chanting 
Seeping from 
A cracked church door
As ushers rush 
To break 
With only the cheapest
Of distractions: 
A breath of fresh air, 
Followed by a cigarette.   
Ahhh! Dreams. 

What they are, 
You are; 
What they are not, 
Cannot be.

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