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.