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.