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.