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?