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.