Eric Torgersen

Climb a tree and snare the moon.
Drop your clothes and wear the moon.

Share my feelings? Not tonight.
Suppose instead we share the moon?

We climbed the tower in a dream:
beyond the highest stair, the moon.

When he went out to end it all
he saw, beyond despair, the moon.

What ever happened to that boy
who thought he could outstare the moon?

Even in the light of day,
just to know it’s there, the moon—

such pale rice paper on the blue
a careless child could tear the moon.

Pale and cold. The sun is God.
Not everyone can bear the moon.

Come away, she says; she has
such pale and lovely hair, the moon,

but there’s a dark side, Eric. Feel it
call to yours. Beware the moon.


ERIC TORGERSEN is Emeritus Professor of English at Central Michigan University. His most recent collection of poems is Heart, Wood. (Word Press, 2012). He has published ghazals in New Letters, New Ohio Review, Pleiades, 32 Poems, New Madrid, Spillway and others, including an earlier issue of The Ghazal Page.