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?