Poetry: Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Freckles Returned to Ecstatic Skin Man Strides

Leave it to April – that long winter 
retreat refresher, a sprawling promise of freshness:
words, poems, ideas;
so good to feel that spilling garden jug of Being,
the smell of atmosphere with budding green shoot rains,
a simple crispness and promise that fills the lungs
and loosens the arms in new spindle –
What I have is that long open grandeur 
of mountain waterfalls, freckles returned to 
ecstatic skin man strides, gaiting fawns 
through personal meadows – it is that type 
of lightness in the windows of the shops 
that begin to stay open a little later,
under a returning skiffle band sun to warm the face 
and bones and soul that have refused to leave
this sluggish dust-packed den in so long.

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