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?