¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ i follow  the tire  tracks west. they go ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨ parallel  with  the railroad,  with  its ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ endless mirrors looking  kinda  oily. an ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨  incredible power bound there... there's ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ a wire fence to separate the two  roads. ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ even  though  there's a foggy quality to ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨ the  air, the path i follow  is glowing. ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ a  yellow-green   moss  has  taken  hold ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨ where  the  machines   who  made   these ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ tracks once disturbed the  clover field. ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ we're  off  the  season  when  the birds ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨ sing beautifully.  these days  it's just ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨       screeches, or calls for help.      ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨ i   think  of  the  jackdaw   i   maimed ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨   yesterday. i fear the dreaming gate.   ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§
¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§¨¨§
¨§§¨¨§¨¨§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨¨§¨§§