KAFKA REBORN

It’s a modest two-story house not far from the river on a narrow
      street in Prague. In the early morning
between the 11th
and 12th of November he awoke with a start and descended
      the stairs to the small kitchen with its round table and
      linden-wood chair, its portable stove and
      methyl-blue flame. He lit

the burner
and the fire became at once (three) flames reflected in the
      window’s three panes: smell of sulphur. He wished

to go
to the dining nook to drink a medicinal tea of honey and
      boldo leaves, he moved the chair and settled in before a
      sienna-colored clay bowl which he had placed, he’d
      forgotten when, on the six-colored wicker tray, Felicia’s
gift; and once again
Felicia appeared her hair in braids and the radiance of candles
      reflected on the white oval of that face greedy for consecrated
      loaves and cakes, that face

three times
a burst of flames in the window pane: she appeared and was again
      three times the child of her dead, a few chamber players
responded to the stroke
of a triangle and the stroke of a bell (at three) in the high belfry
      not far from the river: they took their ease, ten

cups, ten
chairs in the immense country house with its mansard roofs,
      the house in which bay windows and glass doors (barns
      and sheds) were open day and night, the water

and the sponges
shone. Yes: it was another time, and a chorus of girls tended the
      tea pots (boiling) the eucalyptus (boiling), the marjoram and a
      digestive water (mint leaves) respiratory
waters: at peace
at peace (at last), he climbed the stairs and saw himself stretched
      out in the window pane (at last) no crowd of birds
in the window.