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.