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.