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.