When John Wesley Harding caught our approach, he proclaimed,
“I don’t know how I did what I’ve done!”
Then he greased the wheel and set the flame, warning
“Averting your eyes erases the sun.”
We said, “Look how far he’s come
He’s nowhere and getting close.”
We sucked the air and burned our throats.
See the green patient, patiently still! He’d plead,
“My head’s like a still pond, still stagnating.”
See the will in his hands, he’s given up and offering,
“Drill open my head and see what’s waiting.”
We said, “Look how fast he’s fading
When he’s filled up to the brim.”
What kind of light burns that dim?
We found John in the backyard, muttering
“I don’t know how I did what I did, but I did, now I’m done!”
Then he greased the gear and set the bone, swearing
“For everything that festers for the sun!”
We said, “Look how far he’s gone!
He’s balanced on the ledge
And playing with the edge
While we’re anticipating
But look how fast he’s fading!
He’s breathing through the gills
That never gave, but maybe will
If he could only move that heft,
But nothing’s right when nothing’s left!”