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.