I do not feel the urge to scan each and
every one of these out of focus dreams
to my hard drive. Each blurred photograph calls
with its intense light leak reds and glowing
yellows showing bright into the past. Each
folder I handle gifts me anew with
surprises. Blurred friends discernable only
through slow rumination, those long pauses
that leave me peeking like a voyeur into
background, into greys, through a slurry of
darkness here and there to find a fragment
of something to see just a bit clearer.
Only later do I run these dreams through
Photoshop for a clear reality.
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