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.