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?