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.