#§§::,,¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨,,::§§#
##¶§§%:~,¨                                          ¨,~:%§§¶##
##¶§§%:~,¨                                          ¨,~:%§§¶##
##¶§§%:~,¨                                          ¨,~:%§§¶##
##¶§§%:~,¨                                          ¨,~:%§§¶##
##¶§§%:~,¨ 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.   ¨,~:%§§¶##
§§§%:~~¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨~~:%§§§
¶§§§§%:~,¨                                          ¨,~:%§§§§¶
#§%~,¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨,~%§#
##¶§§%:~,¨                                          ¨,~:%§§¶##
#¶§%%~~,¨¨                                          ¨¨,~~%%§¶#