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.