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.