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.