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?