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.