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.