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.