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?