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.