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.