THE SIGN SAID FREE AIR

I’d like some more,
love can breathe again—
God must be near,
atoning for his sins
by giving away air
free for nothing,
one exhalation
after another.

I count each breath—
how many left?
I treasure every whiff
that comes my way
hoping I can savor the silver air—
and keep blowing my favorite tunes,
in a piercing golden tone,
loud and clear on my old trombone.