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.