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.