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?