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.