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.