Here, it always rains. No matter. We share an umbrella,
the branches of a tree, the light from the moon. Imagine
the moon as a tiger. This doesn’t change the moon.
No matter. She is glazed ceramic. No matter. I trust
her hands in the clay. She pulls a tiger from the kiln,
still hot. The moon was never, can never be a tiger,
no matter how long our hands work. Imagine the moon
as clay. The moon is clay. No longer alone, we mold
each other again into night. We add another stripe to the tiger.
First appeared in Washington Square Review
William Fargason’s poetry has appeared in The Threepenny Review, New England Review, Barrow Street, Indiana Review, Rattle, The Cincinnati Review, Narrative, and elsewhere. He received two awards from the Academy of American Poets and a scholarship to Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference. He earned a BA in English from Auburn University, where he served as poetry editor of The Circle. He earned a MFA in poetry from the University of Maryland, where he taught creative writing. Currently, he is a PhD candidate in poetry at Florida State University. He lives with himself in Tallahassee, Florida.