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.