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.