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.