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.