For (no one left) pretending not to care
Becomes an academic exercise:
I could as easily hold up the skies
As sit here writing in a summer chair
Or find that voluntary garden where
I can assert my title to the prize
That's mine if I unravel the disguise,
That doubleness we live in as in air.
I do care. Even at the eleventh hour
One has to hope for a miraculous birth,
Though from the golden tree the dragons sigh
Who have the whole of life within their power,
Who will yield nothing. And the widowed earth
Will sit there bravely smiling and not cry.