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.