Green walnut, sour quince, blow them away. There is no more moisture in my mouth, and my tongue melted like a candle in the fire of language that blew upon it. Afterwards I took sixty-five naps, and so I licked the inside of my skull, and was able to know the sweetness of the dew trickling down in the interior of my consciousness. A gust of wind tore apart the fog, a ray of light streaked in, the dewdrops sparkled off the blades of grass, and what fulfilled the various shapes of all the leaves and stalks and flowers was a single, complete nectar.