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.