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.