One line

might not be enough

to build a life on

It probably isn’t

enough to pay for bread, and

milk

One line might be the

echo, the bruise

on someone else’s belly

I could stay here

in the wingspace

above the city

I could stay

somewhere after the beginning

somewhere before the wheels come down

One line

won’t be enough

to live on

But it is

too much

for an epitaph.