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?