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.