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.