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.