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.