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.