Winds esker                
  
                                          
 There  Was This Place That For Two Years 
 I Couldn'T Go  To. Regardless  How  Much 
 Discussed  With  Others, Or Pointed  Out 
 On  Maps, I  Could Not Think Of It  When 
 Alone. I  Would  Often Travel  Past  The 
 Fork,  Where A Right  Turn Would  Surely 
 Take Me There, But Even Then,  Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When  I  Finally Got There,  After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place  Was  Surreal.   An 
 Esker, Like A Needle-Thin  Rift  Out  In 
 The  Lake,  But  Ten  Meters  High   And 
 Adorned In Birch,  Willow,  Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The  View  To Either Side. There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T Recognize  Them. First Off,  They 
 Were Much Too Close, As The Lake  Should 
 Stretch  For  A Hundred Meters  More  On 
 Both  Sides.  But  Now I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost Reach  Out And  Touch  Them.  And 
 Then,  When I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of  The Right Lake. But  This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite.  Like A Pair  Of Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With  No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them As Belonging  Many Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I  Examined  The   Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above.  Was This What You Saw  Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                Remember.                 
                                          
 Carrying  Forward, On  The  Very  Tip Of 
 The Esker,  I Found  The  Ruins  Of Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The  Moss,  And  Strange Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The Slope  Like  Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There,  I  Could  See Across The 
 Narrowed Lake My Entire  Path To Where I 
 Sat:  From  The  Stairwell Of  My House, 
 Through The  Old Woods Behind  The  Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then  Back Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,  Over   The 
 Fields, And Then That Right  Turn At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And Then  The  Stairs  Up  On The Ridge. 
 Thinking Back,  This  Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden In  A  Grove,  There  Were Stairs 
 Much Like  The Ones  I Currently Sat On, 
 Old  And Worn  Down,  That  Lead You  Up 
 Onto The Esker. The Point Of Entry.  Had 
 I Insted Opted To  Walk The  Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M Sure  My  Experience Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,  There   Were  People  In 
 Boats. I  Wondered, Could They Even  See 
 Me? If  I Shouted,  Would They  Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?