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.