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.