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?