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.