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.