TO THE POEM I'M WRITING

I hope you’re stronger than the rest of them.
Not because I long for your defeat of
Them and the immortal fame that will ensue
As your spoils and due, but so that, just
Maybe, your voice will raise its red flag above
The babbling clamor. Because I am vain
And you are me at this moment—not essence,
But fragment, not whole cloth, but fibre—
And because this moment has just now passed
Into this moment and nothing stands still
And everything fades and flakes and falters
And because I am, by default, your father
And all that I’ve essayed so far has been failure,
I hope you’re stronger than the rest of them.