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.