'the soul may fix its intellectual eye'*

There's a settling 

and a thirst 

when inside you find your focus;

child's button simple

your surroundings slow

in your heart's haste:

every thing but this seems to get in the way

you hold up frayed notebooks 

to this umbrella of suspended rain;

snow, dust, pollen, days floating

outside of your path,

a falling acorn ache

because you know

the thing you're 

running for under this mind willow drape —

pulse barking

loose apple blossoms line your feet;

you could make a dress out of them

you feel so root beautiful

in want,

in meeting.

LJ Ireton, 2026

*quoting Mary Shelly