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?