In Castle ten Berghe

The Flemish phantoms float

Aristocratic accoutrements enclosed

By a moat.

A regal buck on the coat of arms

The silent solitude of its stately charms.

A half day’s drive

From the fields of Ypres–

Where boys went to an early grave–

The merchants of Bruge

Called away to war

Locked in memory

Behind ten Berghe’s door

Herstory …

can never be said,

at least not through the myth

which we have read.

     Herstory …

Is unreasonable to men:

truculent, bleeding

an impenetrable den.

History …

is of brute penetration

acquisition, possession,

a confused and violent separation

      –demanding truculence, bleeding

History–to have and to hold

Herstory–can never be told

no ink.

no ink will dry tonight

no black wet words will bite

the yellow tobacco parchment.

no ink.

no ink can dry tonight

the moon is full and bright

we meet beneath magnolia

and pick petals thin and white.