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?