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.