Imagine being addressed by your own existence. Ostrom’s poem talks to “you” as a way of pointing out how strange it is that each of us gets only one self. You must be you for you to be: no alternatives, no second draft. The speaker knows this is hard—you have to keep your flaws, strengths, quirks and habits all arranged into a single person. Even sleep or altered states don’t let you out; they’re just you in another form. The tone is wry and thoughtful rather than gloomy, with a little playful wordplay in “you-never-the-less.” Underneath is a kind of wonder and mild vertigo: all of time, and you get exactly one attempt at consciousness, one “incarnationality,” one I. The mood is intimate and quietly philosophical—like someone close to you leaning in and making you feel both the burden and the odd miracle of being stuck as yourself.
You and You — Summary
You must be you for you to be. I know: to be the only you is difficult. You must repeat the same old strengths and flaws, ensure quirks and habits stay organized, a regiment of personhood.
You cannot disappear from you. When you're asleep, you're sleeping you; your altered consciousness is altered you, but you-never-the-less. It could be worse. I know you can supply examples of just how.
But still—how strange to have just one attempt at consciousness in all of Time, to have to spend it on one incarnationality— the only I you'll ever be.