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.