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.
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