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.