An imperfect map will have to do, little one.

The place of entry is the sea of your mother’s blood, your father’s small death
as he longs to know himself in another. 

There is no exit.

The map can be interpreted through the wall of the intestine~ a spiral
on the road of knowledge.

(Section of POEM)
by Joy Harjo 

From:
A Map to the Next World
poems and tales
W.W. Norton & Company