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.