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?