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.