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.