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?