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.