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.