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.