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.