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?