The room in the tower is dark. 
But they illuminate each other's face with their smile. 
They reach and grope like the blind 
and find the other like a door.  
Almost like children who are afraid of the dark, 
that is how they crowd in on each other. 
And yet they do not fear. 
There is nothing that might be against them: 
no yesterday, no tomorrow; 
because time has collapsed.  
And they are blossoming from its ruins. 
He does not ask: "Your husband?"
She does not ask: "Your name?"
After all, they have found each other 
to be a new generation for each other.
They will give each other a hundred new names 
and take them away again, 
quietly, as one removes an earring.

In the anteroom his military coat is draped across an armchair, 
as well as his sash and the long coat of him who is von Langenau. 
His gloves lie on the floor. 
His flag is erect, leaning against the cross beams of the window.  
It is black and slender. 
Outside a storm chases across the sky 
and shreds the night into pieces, white and black ones. 
The light of the moon passes like a lasting bolt of lighting, 
and the immobile flag casts nervous shadows.  
It is dreaming.