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.