Late at night, in a silent house, the speaker stands alone on a balcony. Below, the Isar river makes a low, moaning sound, and its pale surface cuts eerily through the pines under a heavy, stony sky. There is no human company, only the faint movement of fireflies drifting through the air. The smallness of those lights deepens the surrounding dark.
The speaker feels forsaken and forlorn, as the title says—cut off from others and maybe from meaning. The darkness is not just outside; it seems to press in and threaten to erase him. His final question, “Where / Ends this darkness that annihilates me,” turns a lonely night into something more unsettling: a brush with emptiness and the fear of being nothing. The mood is quiet, eerie, and heavy with isolation.