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.