With the patience of a bear, Diego Rivera
hunted through paint for the forest’s emerald,
or vermillion, the blood’s sudden flower;
in your picture he gathered the light of the world.
He painted the imperious clothing of your nose,
the spark of your cantering eyes,
your nails that fuel the moon’s envy,
and, in your summery skin, the melon of your mouth.
He gave you two heads of molten volcanoes,
for fire, for love, for your Araucan lineage,
and over the two golden faces of clay
he covered you with a helmet of noble fire:
there my eyes lingered, in secret,
tangled in your full and towering hair.