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.