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.