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.