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.