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.