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.