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.