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?