Fists

Unfurling the banner, the protesters
begin the march. The placards ascend,
so do fists. It is as if they are
fighting against the heat.

But fists have their own logic.
They rise when others fall--- bodies,
dignity, rights. And how they rise.
They rise as if waves of water,
towering before crashing before
rising again. They rise like seedlings,
shooting up, overcoming the darkness
and safety of the earth. Or mountains,
slow, but the triumph over gravity,
sure.

The fists rise and fall, rise and fall:
the beating of the collective heart.
The heart that never tires.
The heart that is faithful.
The heart that beats for a
red sunrise.