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.