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.