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| 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
