>> I'm going to read this particular public poem very quickly.
I'm just so proud of this because several years ago I was asked to write a poem for the visit
of President Vicente Fox when he came to visit Arizona.
I wrote the poem, I read it for him and I read it in English
and Spanish with him standing next to me.
He is about 10 ft tall.
And afterward came the great news that this poem is going to be on the wall of the new Port
of Entry at Nogales, where I grew up.
It is a nice thing.
This is called Borderlines, Líneas fronterizas.
I'm going to read it just as I read it that day.
It's got an epigraph as well.
A weight carried by two weighs only half as much.
Un peso cargado por dos no pesa más que la mitad.
The world on a map looks like the drawing of a cow in a butcher's shop, all those lines showing
where to cut. El mundo en un mapa parece el dibujo de una vaca en la carnicería,
todas esas líneas mostrando dónde cortar,
pero ese dibujo de la vaca es también un rompecabezas,
mostrando cómo todas las piezas extrañas caben muy bien juntas.
But that drawing of the cow is also a jigsaw puzzle,
showing just as much how very well all the strange parts fit together.
La manera en que miramos el dibujo nos hace ver la diferencia.
Which way we look at the drawing makes all the difference.
Parecemos vivir en un mundo de mapas,
pero en verdad vivimos en un mundo hecho no de papel ni de tinta, sino de gente.
Esas líneas son nuestras vidas.
We seem to live in a world of maps, but in truth we live
in a world made not of paper and ink, but of people.
Those lines are our lives.
Juntos, demos vuelta al mapa hasta que veamos claramente.
La frontera es lo que nos une, no lo que nos separa.
Together, let us turn the map until we see clearly.
The border --
-- is what joins us, not what separates us.