On the surface, the speaker is complaining about a broken camera. The autofocus used to do everything; now it fails, and turning the focus ring by hand doesn't help either. Every picture comes out soft and unclear. A new camera is out of the question, "till the next life, if there is one," a dry joke that hints at resignation.
But the camera starts to look like something larger. Judging by the tone, the blurred images could stand for a life or a way of seeing that has lost its sharpness. The speaker doesn't give up, though. Each day they take the camera out, brush off the dust, tweak it, and imagine crisp pictures. The mood is quiet, tired, and gently wry, with a small flicker of hope in the last line: "One day, it might snap back to life." The plain, almost casual language makes that hope feel honest rather than forced.