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?