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.