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?