It's Impossible To Write About Native Life

Old Love, Middle Love, The Kind Of Love That Knows Itself And Knows That Nothing Lasts, Is A Desperate Shared Wildness.

We Started Dying Before The Snow, And Like The Snow, We Continued To Fall.

So Many Things In The World Have Happened Before. But It's Like They Never Did. Every New Thing That Happens To A Person, It's A First... In That Night I Felt Expansion, As If The World Was Branching Out In Shoots And Growing Faster Than The Eye Could See. I Felt Smallness, How The Earth Divided Into Bits And Kept Dividing. I Felt Stars.

It Was Just Enough To Sit There Without Words.

Her Clothes Were Filled With Safety Pins And Hidden Tears.