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.