Destined to die,
erased from all of history
unless you dig DNA deep
and under yards of soil.

I am but a fossil,
a piece of mitochondria,
imbuing few traits,
but allowing for future generations.

I am no-one and nowhere,
yet I cross borders,
and reach through the threads,
of history and of time.

Dust brushed off an artifact,
a skull, a jaw, phalanges,
bone or flint knife,
a piece of ancient pottery.

My fingerprints are everywhere,
yet invisible to most,
continuing to live under the surface,
but extinct for millennia.