Geppetto's Journal

Early one morning
On an early morning hike
He pressed a prettiless plant
Between pages in a blank book

Late the next night
On an emergency late-night flight
He thought down on his darlings
Getting on in age, he couldn't recall

Had the weed the sore right ankle?
Or little Geppetto's book? He remembered
One tubercular grunt beneath his favorite quilt
Though the details of the graces were sanded flat

So high up, he thought, so impossibly far

A rose or possibly the Bible
Would shrug off such a persistent cough
Simply swat away the pest, he thought
Tripping into sleep, on his ass a pleasant bite

So high up, I thought, so impossibly far

On my
Knees begging
At your
Feet hands
Clasped insisting
Indulge in something
Sweet and so
I stare past where
Your face should be
Staring back at me.