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.