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.