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.