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.