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.