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?