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.