But what captured him was a light in the river folding open and open blood, heart and stones shimmering like the Milky Way. - Joy Harjo

Girl-Warrior was lonely
For the poetry-talk of the Old Ones.
They spoke in metaphor,
A way of language that alerted her imagination
To the presence of mystery
Where there was always a light on in the mica windows
Of her soul's house
Where knowledge did not depend on words
Of faulty human languages.

You savored each story they told you,
and remembered
the way the stars entered your blood
at birth.

Because who would believe
the fantastic and terrible story of all of our survival
those who were never meant
to survive?