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?