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.