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.