Spare

Not such a tight grip
That life can’t spare you
A deep gasp, a sweet
Hour once in a while,
Most of you, at least.

The force of change lets
The pause it left out
Stand in. We can mourn,
If not feel at peace
For long, in bare air.

We, yours, what you say—
Take the damned text and
Do a thing or two
With, to it—you pick.
That glass bowl right there,

The one with ripe fruit
And sweets, close to hand
In the midst of this,
That’s one word for spare.
Think how right it is

As you reach for it
That one word should mean
What’s left, waste, not used,
And what’s lean as bone.
Spare us life’s sweet air.