Poem: Rosemary by Tyler Lowery

rosemary

it’s foolish to think
I could siphon
a single line
from these paint splattered street
Cormac set Suttree upon-

the best I’ll managed 
is a road map to points
I’ve dreamt of
through glasses tinted
by some approximation
of a recycled originality
that might one day save me-

the tilt of flagstones
planted on legacy grounds
well documented,
staring at art I’ll never hope to 
understand-
all part of the fabrications
no one will step forward
to verify-

I’ll circle back 
a third time before
the night’s over,
rub a sprig of rosemary
between my fingers
and dream of home,
a comfortable chair beside
a fire I can stare into,
some distant kettle warming
the broth I’ll use
to wash 
all of these dreams away,
clean and undisturbed