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.