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?