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.