Littleton

You are more of who I am than I am of me
More than the envelope of bones
and gris gris charms that manifest my destiny.
A charming spirit housed in no host
I wait on you, here, my purgatory
Endless stone-still nights
A mosquito in timeless amber-awaiting discovery
by Man, who is eons away from loving himself.
And so I fear, I am just beyond reach
as I am never tangible; just a lazy shadow
a figment- caught only in the corner of the eye.
I do not exist
When I am indiscernible static carried on the winds –
upswept pollen, gathering in the feathers of migrating geese