Root, Theory

By: C. Henry Smith

The night is the least round thing

Moon faced Cancerians, Gomorrah lights fading

I consider a black hole, I consider a void still linearly

A place for the angels in all the tired this

Bathsheba in the bathtub, queen mother on the horizon

We start the black miracle out as an ovum

To stand, equation-balanced; to last in sin immemorial

Monuments grey as an ass’ dreams, ashen as an ass dreams of turnips

The turn of celestial bodies is unlike any turn of my own

Lot-wife-pivot inevitable into something unforgiven

Or maybe what feels like a segment is only a long curve

Though I like the firelight in rays better than in waves

The hope of an arrowed end and the darkening present

Kingdoms, queendoms, jackdoms, tens

Really footing the footpath to weather the seasons

Advancing to and from darkness, we don’t come back from this

I like the place dreaming makes in my lifetime

Could stand for an infinity of blank

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C. Henry Smith is from West Texas but now makes poems in Brooklyn. He is the author of the chapbook Warren (Ghost City Press), and his work has appeared or is forthcoming in Colorado Review, Jabberwock Review, DMQ Review, Peach Velvet Mag, Dappled Things, River River, and others. He received his MFA at Oregon State University and is grateful for past residencies through Spring Creek Project and Chicago Art Department. @chenrysmith