January Poems #22: Chant

I've taken a lot of late-night train and bus rides in my life. Travel on public transportation gives one a lot of time to read. Or think. Or, for someone like me, compose in my head and later commit to paper later. (My handwriting is bad enough without trying to write with any clarity on a moving vehicle.)

Some nights, I have
the need. I lean in
the underground, letting
the hard air get me,
cars tugging in with
ghostly breaths to
stretch me home. I
ask no one to amaze
me, to drive me to
my backyard shirtless,
chest fuzz knowing
the cold all over
without anyone to
tell me what great
meaning this has.
Even when the sky is
annoying and dark,
there’s fear in the
curve of my lips, but
no study of blackness
is needed here. No
bitching is needed
here. The snap of
sunlight still moves
me, but some nights
I have the need to be
elemental and closed.