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?