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.