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.