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.