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.