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?