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.