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.