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.