On the eighth day these gifts were given,
the peacemakers, our backpacks filled
with salves and balms for weary hours:
hot chocolate and remixes and socks with stripes,
soul-friends with tissues,
full tanks and pens and keys and kittens,
If there are middling times when we are lost,
we aren’t long,
nor will we rest forever in the valleys;
if we are economical, awake, aware,
we will learn the sorcery by our tears
of healing waters,
of our own secret recipes
that no man can touch.
And though we be susceptible to the river’s pull
we will not be drowned alive.