At F-two-one, where rails pretend to fly,
Not wrapped nor buried, just waved at the sky.
I checked what’s seen, ignored the sign’s plea,
Found timber’s promise humming over me.
No horse, no name, no shade, no rest,
Just heat being hot and clues misheard at best.
Plants, birds, rocks — I counted the lot,
And chased what was missing, not what was not.
Above the tracks where engines moan,
A quiet place the map won’t own.
Side of steel, an overhead grin,
The note sat there saying: you’re finally in.
Now bears may live or meet their fate,
For I hold the scrap — a million weight.
Puzzle solved, the game’s undone,
Riddle answered. Pay me. I’m rich.
