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.