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.