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?