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.