Mina (for Mina Loy)

At stake is space, essential umber-coloured What is it? A dusky lair of deep deep sleep And who is it?

Mina, her lips curved to storefronts of NY, closing softer over Parnasse, cooing, too for soft white arms

Mina, owl-huntress or the more sensuously lipped Luna herself, poet lover of panting Djuna and Gertie who enter her as light

At centre is Mina quirky, each eye a closed dark wisdom & a bit lubricious— lover of soft-petalled Djuna & pretty arms