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?