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.