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.