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.