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.