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?