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?