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.