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.