§¨§§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨¨§
§¨¨§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨§§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨¨§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨§§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨¨§¨§¨§¨§ 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.   §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨¨§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨§§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨¨§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨§§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨
§¨¨§¨§¨§¨§                                          §¨§¨§¨§¨§¨