Fresco

she called out for father
but it was mother who came.

the walls of the city had been painted

blood red.
 scenes of destruction were everywhere,
  and families  indulging

   their last supper, a field strewn

  with wine goblets, plates broken,  

  bones of boar and quail.
  (this was before they invented

        perspective.)

lastly a vision,

a dark coiling corridor

and a single atrium,

  splattered in

light