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.