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.