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?