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.