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?