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.