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?