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?