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?