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?