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.