– MILAN 12/4/02 (Reuters) – The remains of an Italian man who packed his bags 44 years ago and told friends he was leaving for America were found inside one of the walls of his former home. Inside a thick wall in the cellar was found human remains, two packed suitcases, a trowel and other equipment to make a wall, a rusted rifle and a bottle with a suicide note. The note, headed with the name Nemo Cianelli, explained that the man had discovered he had an incurable disease and had decided to kill himself. He said he had invented the tale of going to America to avoid upsetting his family.
If death is a country, a new world
of plaster and beams, then it is a land
of anonymous travelers. Its maps concise.
Legends full of stop signs and cellar doors.
If, after long use the body becomes a measurable object,
a thing that must be concealed, then it is a vessel
loaded for bear. Who knows what you’ll need
in that new Canaan.
If we are anything we are builders.
Forever calling in reinforcements,
buttressing our way to safety.
Fortification becomes our forte.
If, in the landscape called the end
we can look at those that remain,
those still unconcerned with brackets
and the bearing of weight—
If, we can look at them and lie
like there’s no tomorrow, then it can be said
that the Hudson overflows with forgiveness,
the ships never as buoyant with possibility.
If, with the final news we become
more lucent than the living, more radiant
and steady, then I’ll welcome the
foremen in me. I’ll study the structure
of houses, scaffolding
schematics and footprints.
The soft spread of mortar to brick.
The architecture of forever.