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.