Poem: Self-Descriptions

Self-Descriptions

He says the word I use is not one he appreciates,
that it feels unsurmountable, an impasse, permanent
and not subject to change.  I do not know what to tell him,
do not even understand his meaning:
these things are a part of us, are within us,
are the way the world comes inside,
are the always present that cannot even be named.

I do not notice the air when it is not in motion,
though I am breathing and breathing it,
needing it.  I do not notice it unless it moves,
or if it has a shocking temperature, heat or cold
that is unexpected.  Then the air is a thing to me again,
is touching my flesh.  Most of the time it is a nothing I do not know,
a thing that is easy to forget, for me.  I do not know.
I use one word to mean this and he says it is not for him,
is not a word he can carry on his back.  I want to know
we can find a space between us where each feels safe,
but the terms of my safety seem to be ones that he rejects
as I turn from his nomenclature.  It is an impasse, but
it is only about the words we are using.  No,
it is not only the words.  There is the meanings,
there is an understanding of the world
inside such small shifts of meaning.