For now the sun cliche-like has risen
in full view of my living. For now our

cats lean and rub live-bodied my feet
as light opens slow to the room where

I feed them enough to help them remain.
For now I forget slash set aside this need

to close forever slash I mouth phrases
and none are for you to forgive my leaving.

For I scribble now an intent to survive
to the end of this lung deflating, such air

we have, such poetry to fill the space
for awhile. For now air catches, returns.

Ryan Clark writes his poems using a unique method of homophonic translation. He is the author of Arizona SB 1070: An Act (Downstate Legacies) and How I Pitched the First Curve (Lit Fest Press), and his poetry has appeared in such journals as DIAGRAM, Interim, Painted Bride Quarterly, and SRPR. He lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.