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?