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.