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.