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?