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.