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.