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.