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?