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?