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.