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.