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.