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.