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?