Eric Ratcliffe Biography

Behind these yellow leaves I see the maiden of the moon's boat,
her smile straying, her light throat bent over the path of suffering.
Inside a convent of trees she rides, the Bride of my God,
floating a silver mile below her shining side,
...

In the essence between dragnet day;
in the peace betwen dwale and poplar;
in the twig and near holy things;
by Earth's deep sluices, in enormity
...

Long, long ago, before the puffin swam,
neither sun nor sail bewildered those
who, simple in their sleep, walked to a day
of golden trees and apples in the air,
...

A low arrow, I search the land
for her silver feet moving leaves
as she follows through spiced fields,
runs, or turns to a bird cry.
...

Thought was almost a wave-form,
an elusive violet
beamed from internal antennae;
western truths were without substance.
...