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.