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.