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?