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.