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We are children of the water;
the depths of our victorious struggles
flow deeper than the highest sky.
Our muddy banks
are laden with footprints
left by Middle Passage survivors;
No levy has yet contained
the power of our streaming.
We are the hope bringers—
melodic waves of liberation;
low tide warriors—
splashing the shores of dried souls;
quenching cracked clods
thirsting the taste of redemption.
We are the roaring springs;
drowning despair in whirlpools of faith.
Let our story be survival of his story
leaving tributaries to struggle in truth; free
from the clogging untruths of our flowed journey.
May our little moonlit puddles
swell into Jordan River watersheds; become
waxed tides of freedom upon the shorn shore.
