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.