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.