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?