In the anteroom

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.