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.