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?