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.