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?