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.