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.