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.