there are finitely October-ides
meek shooting stars—the friends of nighttime
have fallen afore
the visit of the
morning star—the boon Venus
I was able to feel their
eyesome miraculous silence
a dreamier eviternity
belongs to me
I can think of its waking dreams
about the Golden Fleece from
a mermaid’s legend
about muse-like feast from
the fairy-like myths
or Cranes of Ibycus from
the a pixie-like poesy
I am inflaming a fireling
October’s marvelous sparkle
as if each glimmerlet was
from the tender sempiternity
the dawn has left us
the sidekick sun and a van-tenderness
of me poetries for
the dreaming heart
I dream and
philosophize about
the druidical fire
my little glimmer
is such a druidical-being
I need a peace and lovely water-bow
for the beloved homeland
my daydreams are born from
magnificent dew
decorated with the
enchanted autumn
as well as with
a fantasy-weird of
the winged metaphysic
fulfilled in some after-glow