Pentirsi

We do and don’t have this problem—
Words ourselves never change our minds,

Although our minds are constantly
Being changed for us by users.

We’re our world that is not the world,
But you need us to fit your worlds,

At least loosely, like a wool cloak,
If not quite Savile Row tailored,

And your worlds never stay the same,
And even old, small, useful words

Gradually get repurposed or
Drop completely out of language,

Not to mention, whole languages
Die in your unkindness to you.

Sometimes we think of our lost kin
And of those curious cousins,

The ones inscribed with script systems
None of you now can decipher.

We wonder—maybe Harappan
And Linear A, etc.,

Are so many pentimenti,
Ancient intentions underneath,

Functionless meanings poking through.
Maybe it’s their worlds, not their signs,

Now too alien to your minds,
So changed they can’t make sense to you.