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.