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.