If I walked in Rivera's landscape
Along a path bordered in darkness
There is light in the distance

Where the sun through the trees
Paints a bright pattern on the ground
And I know it is a long walk

From darkness that gives way only
Grudgingly in small spots that
Grow in intensity toward brilliance

The stark verticals of pines are balanced
By the long horizontal of hedge in a vision
Where opposites meet quietly

In the coolness of shade in the silence
Of foliage and if I walked down this
Twilight toward a distant daylight

I would remember the smell of pines
And earth and the sunlight in broken
Windowpane patterns on the path

Las Sandias

In Rivera's painting melons are
Sliced and resting ripe crimson
Bordered in bone-white rind open
And inviting on a green wooden table

That is the matching color of the melon
Skins themselves and veins of black seeds
Dot through the meat and accent its
Redness and deepen its lushness

The one piece bitten waits for the unseen
Hand that set it down to pick it up again
And lift it to lips and tongue that are the
Matching color of the melon's ripeness

In Rivera's painting there is
No face for it is a portrait
Of form a study of shape

Symmetry and balance that is
A woman in a Vitruvian pose
Her body in bloom

Crouched on a straw mat
The soles of her feet cross
Simply beneath her

Like leaves under a blossom
Lilies in a wicker basket
Before her

Stand in contrast to the
Strict order that frames
Them

And the straight and curved line
That rises from ass to spine
To part her hair

Her arms spread like stems
Supporting of weight of
Blossoms