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.