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.