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.