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.