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.