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.