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.