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.