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.