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?