Eine Stunde hinter Mitternacht

A long, curved, gentle wave lifted my boat with the rounded bow onto the rock. A shipwrecked dreamer left the rowing bench and stretched his arms towards the mute land. My purple cloak was crumbling and was wrinkled softly and humbly from the hips down. My arms and neck had grown thin from rowing and fasting, and my hair had grown long and curled in abundance at the nape of the neck. My reflection lay spread out in the dark green, calm waters of the bay, and I saw that on the long journey everything about me had changed, browner, slimmer and more flexible.