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.