Pareidolia

the dove flies off when a face appears

and the label sweats when I’ve stared into the fog too long

I can almost see my dried spit walk away

arms linked with my explanation

delete-sun-words-excess

until the cold water condenses my want for what I perceive

and I envelop

contrary to what I feel tapping away on the inside of my chest plate

I am human,

says the fly in my nostril

two, fifteen, forty… six

with the sap from a popped bulb between my fingers

no matter how cursory or how puncturing

melted or frozen

with a rigid nail and a spotted tooth

when I look

I will always see

nothing