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.