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.