Inscription Recto, in image: There is a measure that maps don't get - The up and down of things. From here to there is all right, / and plain Enough, two steps to this place, nine steps. I've been there. On a map, the lines, They look / more like wrinkles on a knuckle. I can see that when I fold my fingers my knuckles become hills. / Looking at the scale of the map, It's what you are supposed to believe. One inch equals one mile. Just / like that. But there is no wet on a map, only ocean and sea, river, lake, some more words / about water. That's the map of us the world gets, and then believes: We are what the map is supposed to / do. We are the up and down of things, but a map has the folds drawn on, and easy enough. Ours are / earned, and not flat at all. You can't believe the lines on a map, But the lines on me, they're what a map / wants to say and can't. We have made ourselves into where we want To be. That is in us: in our arms, held / out. One inch equals one mile: I believe it. It would not be the first time I have seen such a thing.
Recto, lower left quadrant, red ink stamp: [see worksheet]
Verso, lower right corner, in graphite: Alberto Rios [poet's signature?]
Verso, lower right corner: Segura chopmark
Provenance Collection of Susie and Scott Robertson, Scottsdale, AZ; Birmingham Museum of Art, Birmingham, AL, 2003