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.