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.