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.