runners pool, sidle up amid the constant daily rush
in a tight blanketed circle.
I imagine them weary until they make it
heard with care:
creaky chairs and whispers, text read aloud
they look up, tell me it is poetry
it’s Iam, I–am
he says so, eyes glassy with fatigue and his name
short for something familiar.
as he shambles through the picket with belief
heavy on his tongue
there’s a bible
in his hand, as is his song
tonight’s sky promises
a chilly rain
on our backs, still
Maggie rustles the tarp.
she designs to sleep outside
for here in the city
it is only when we look to Gaza
that we seem to see the stars
lock-armed and mealy mouthed atop us
the blockade begins to sing
and cross-legged
fetal below
we join
hold fast a choir for the building above:
we shall not, we shall not be moved
we shall not, we shall not be moved
just like a tree, that’s standing by the water
we shall not be moved 
Mason is a recent graduate of Columbia University.
Featured image of the Gaza Solidarity Encampment at Columbia University by Mason.