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?