Eric Ratcliffe Poems
The Maiden Of The Moon's Boat
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,
as I, like these many branches, open my heart to her.
Halting and walikng in strange dead seasons
through the weak light of ghost Octobers,
surrendered to the final lute
they sing from melodies unborn
They have chanted how they remembered
the first sleeping diamonds of dew
on the white flowers left weeping
by the wall in the graveyard dawn.