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.