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?