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.