Today I went to the top of the world.
And met two monks
Empty of everything except themselves.
The sky a seamless part of it.
With pleasant walks, food and talk at will.
Our only dreams of words forgotten.

And there in the margins
An interval between wars
I saw a black bird
As black as those that bled in a Shanxi
mine.
Darkness evolved into perfection
Mountains within mountains,
Something like a maze.

"Go back to the dark and grimy alleys of Manchester" the monks told me.

And now, in my returning dream, I see tides of people falling through the siege.