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?