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.