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.