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?