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.