Cut from a stunted forest, it lies atop a bed of goo which was once an ocean, but is today transformed by alchemy to manna. Big-haunched termites gorge on its viscous guck. Satiated, they drag themselves to the tubular palace of their queen, where soaring flame-topped towers light up like Christmas trees at night. Their magic twinkle fades to dawn’s reality, an industrial hive, a teeming belching mechanical Babylon. Steam, smoke, prosperity, all disperse on four strong winds, but the manna – that ethical liquid gold – will flow through pipes to sate the thirst that warms a choking, sullied, fragile rock.