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.