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.