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.