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?