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.