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.