An instant of balsamic sharpness is enveloped in honey and smoke from coiled incense. The moment, trapped in languid substances, crystallizes into candy. It tastes similar to the candied salted plums a Chinese matron might have in a dish on her rosewood vanity. Beside the dish is a compass, an hourglass, and a candle, its single flame multiplied to infinity in the gaze of two facing mirrors.