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.