Mysterious poem

Who draws the measure, who lays the first stone?

Which eye beholds the plan before the light is known?

Beneath what vaulted silence do our oaths incline,

When trembling foundations drink the breath of time?

Who carves the shadow, who hammers lightning into stone?

What forge sings the forgetting, beneath thunder’s throne?

Where does the hand vanish, where begins the work,

When the Architect falls silent and the image turns to murk?

What fire, what secret buries the builders’ sighs?

Who forges laws beneath mocking, smoldering skies?

At what forbidden threshold do we offer up our flesh,

When the Temple collapses beneath the weight of our breath?

Who weighs the fall, who raises the broken arch?

What silence crowns the soul too weary to march?

Which mad compass traces the endless decay,

When even the Mason forgets the path and the way?

And you, nameless wanderer, what oath have you betrayed?

What door did you cross, what key was mislaid?

Under what ashen heavens do you still dare to stand,

When the last pillar shatters beneath your trembling hand?

• Numquam nimis procul ab altero, damnati essemus.