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.