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?