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.