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?