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.