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.