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.