12.01115 "...carbon is the key element of living substance: but it's promotion, it's entry into the living world is not easy and must follow an obligatory, intricate path..." (Primo Levy) A thousand million years are not enough to tell how vertical grass becomes a crab and then a bee or honey that it makes before it's grass again. And in between, regular excursions starward, looking home with eyes it one day will become or, water bound, riding plankton waves. Which atom in this hand once lay bound in limestone, hacked by a pick, shovelled to a kiln till the molecules broke down and issued gas blew windward to settle on a leaf and liquefy? Pinned there by a photoflash of sun, became green food, fortified an oak, bark where woodworm drilled, where the moth morphosed and flew on in it's wing until the predator's snap; then again a gas and then an artichoke my mother ate. In carbon, incarnation curls, reminds us this thin crust brims with it's atomic weight, facing, once again unfurled, the black cess, nothingness.