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.