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.