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.