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.