In Ninety-three Words

I want to write of hands holding medallions,
of light splashed upon a wall.
I want to write a striking image,
ingrained upon the granite
of an ancient city's fall.
Is it a drop of blood on a cement stair,
or the creak of the door
in dust summer heat?
Can you tell me how to paint
the rumbles that may be thunder
or a couple escaping on a train?
It's a breathless hush,
a silent whisper on the lip of a lover
that I want to write;
a celluloid impression
in ninety-three words.


(C)2005 JJP