Nevermind that. It is October; the stone of October is:
Your feather of sand which separates slow waters
Encloses their cool luminance within the boulder.
How inwardly it turns, this brightness,
How private its radiance
How refined this iridescent river run within your slender confine.
This secret fire surrenders itself to the air at a touch:
The working rhythm of the grinding wheel
The perfusion of oil on your shining face.