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.