They have broken up the mosaics

Of the last century, together with those

Of the previous century, and of the centuries before.

This is the way with foundations, when you

Build your bell a tower towering above

The tallest cypresses; a tower as white

As cypresses are dark; a tower

As straight as knots are inextricable:

Knots that graced mosaics that you chose to break,

Striking apart all the mosaic’s bits.

x

And now the tower dreams. The tower

Dreams of knots. These dreams are inextricable

Now the hour is struck. The bell tolls

In the tower for all those broken bits.

It tolls through the centuries – tolls

For Saint Peter, tolls for Attila as well.

The bell is the dream that towers above

The cypresses: a dark dream, drinking

The blood of martyrs; martyrs with

The power to break all your mosaics up.

Aquileia