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?