Pinocchio Evloves Prose Poem

He carried the old man into the woods, and watched the body slowly decay. In the end, after the sun had prepared the corpse it seemed that the moon had consumed it. The trees did not mourn, and Pinocchio - could not; although Geppetto had been his only companion for decades. He had seen children cry and wondered why? Now the wilderness called to him. When in that Alpine cabin he had danced for his master, he had given no thought to the truth that the dwelling itself was hewn from the same ancient material as his own consciousness. For weeks he traversed the wilderness, hiding from any trace of humanity. He did not grow tired - could not, but a need to be anchored to the ground gradually stole over him. He envied the tall trees with their deep earth grasping roots, how the trees fed themselves from the soil, the air and the rain. A time came when he simply had to be still, to feel what the trees felt; to pacify his busy mind with the slow thoughts of the sky. The years changed him, branches and sprigs grew from his trunk his legs became immovable. That which had once been Pinocchio drank from the soils deep wells, wells that filled with his once human mind, natural cisterns that now nourished him with a knowledge that any creature of flesh and blood could ever hope to translate.