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.