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?