I lie in the shadows of deepest night.
I melt into darkness still and silent.
Quietly, skillfully, hide from your sight,
While tracing your paths with dogged intent.
I blithely follow wherever you roam.
I dance in the turbulence of your wake.
I see you go out and trace your steps home,
Except for the parts of me that you take.
I touch all your trinkets and your treasure;
My blanket covers your undisturbed things.
Mostly, I'm just you, measure for measure,
And I fly around as if I had wings.
I get on your hands, your elbows, your knees,
And climb up your nose to make you sneeze.
"Pulvis et umbra sumus. (We are but dust and shadow.)”
― Horace, The Odes of Horace
(Pulvis is dust, of course...)