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The Golem Envisions his Origins 5- The Golem, in a Trance, Envisions his True Origins i never sleep yet slip into a trance of wattle imagination i see a field of cut timothy grazing holstein cattle the vltava not far coursing swiftly through pine sheltered ravines squeezed from cow river scythe and ax-bite i am clay dung parchment and hay then i see the sun burning off the last of autumn a young woman dreaming in the haze such a tableau hayrick steaming manure grey mud hewn wood could rise summoned by word and sun heated dreams enough to cast the spell and when i come out of the trance i understand her fevers and the inherent desperation of dream and spells as though there was nothing more natural in creation than i
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