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.