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.