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.