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.