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?