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.