The Camera

The camera
   only sees its view.

Though, I do my part.
it’s never right. Returning
to a dream, once my night.

Now in daylight
all the colors, garish into hell.

The view again creeps up
like a vine of a morning glory.
Beautiful in their way.

But what’s the use.
To greet a sun and die
before the noon hour.

So again -

I’m left to search
    for the truth in the one view.