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?