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?