Why arenít dreams as grainy
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as the photos taken scores ago?
Why are they sharp as broken glass?
Water seeping in a fresh print
in mud that never dries
the faint smell a bitter taste.
The drops of rain never reach ground,
but run down my face and arms.
I see the bend in the trail
drawing me, impossibly strong
though I know what lies beyond.
The jungle too still.
Why arenít dreams grainy?