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?